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KING-ERRANT 


KING-ERRANT 


BY 


FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 

Author   of   "  On   the  Face   of   the   Waters,"   etc. 


WITH   FRONTISPIECE   IN   COLOR   AND    TWO 

ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  BLACK-AND-WHITE 

BY  THE  AUTHOR 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright^  iqi2^  hy 
Frhdbrick  a.  Stokhs  Company 


All  rights  reserved^  including  that  of  t  rami  at  ion  inte  foreign 
languages  J  including  the  Scandinavian 


October,  IQI2 


PREFACE 

This  is  not  a  novel,  neither  is  it  a  history.  It  is  the 
life-story  of  a  man,  taken  from  his  own  memoirs. 

''  Tinker,  tailor,  soldier,  sailor,  gentleman,  apothecary, 
ploughboy,  thief." 

So  runs  the  jingle. 

The  hero  of  this  book  might  have  claimed  as  many 
personalities  in  himself,  for  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  com- 
monly called  Babar,  Emperor  of  India,  the  first  of  the 
dynasty  which  we  mis-name  the  Great  Moghuls,  was  at 
one  and  the  same  time  poet,  painter,  soldier,  athlete, 
gentleman,  musician,  beggar  and  King. 

He  lived  the  most  adventurous  life  a  man  ever  lived, 
in  the  end  of  the  fifteenth,  the  beginning  of  the  six- 
teenth centuries;  and  he  kept  a  record  of  it. 

On  this  record  I  have  worked.  Reading  between  the 
lines  often,  at  times  supplying  details  that  must  have  oc- 
curred, doing  my  best  to  present,  without  flaw,  the 
lovable,  versatile,  volatile  soul  which  wrote  down  its 
virtues  and  its  vices,  its  successes  and  its  failures  with 
equally  unsparing  truth,  and  equally  invariable  sense  of 
honour  and  humour. 

The  incident  of  the  crystal  bowl,  and  the  details  of 
Babar's  subsequent  marriage  to  Maham  (the  woman 
who  was  to  be  to  him  what  Ayesha  was  to  Mahomed), 
are  purely  imaginary.  I  found  it  necessary  to  supply 
some  explanation  of  the  curious  coincidence  in  time  of 
this  undoubted  marriage  with  the  pitifully  brief  romance 
of  little  Cousin  Ma'asuma;  for  Babar  was  above  all 
things  affectionate.  I  trust  my  imagining  fits  in  with 
the  general  tone  of  my  hero's  life. 

If  not,  he  will  forgive  me,  I  am  sure.  He  forgave 
so  many  in  life  that  he  will  not  grudge  forgiveness  in 
death,  to  his  most  ardent  admirer.  F.  A.  Steel. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 

PAGE 

Seed  Time — 1493  to  1504     .......       3 

BOOK  II 
Blossom  Time — 1504x01511 143 

BOOK  III 
Fruit  Time — 1525  to  1530     .     .     .     >     '.  255 


BOOK    I 

SEED    TIME 

1493    TO     1504 


KING-ERRANT 


CHAPTER  I 

" .  .  .  .  for  I  know 
How  far  high  failure  overleaps  the  bounds 
Of  low  successes  —  " 

Lewis  Morris. 

The  fortified  town  of  Andijan  lay  hot  in  the  spring 
sunshine.  Outside  the  citadel,  in  the  clover  mead- 
ows which  stretched  from  its  gate  to  the  Black-river  (a 
tributary  to  the  swift  Jaxartes  which  flows  through  the 
kingdom  of  Ferghana)  a  group  of  boys  and  men  were 
playing  leap-frog. 

"  An  iishruffi  he  falls,"  cried  one  watching  the  leaper. 

"  A  dirrhm  he  doesn't ! "  retorted  another  who  had  a 
broad,  frank,  good-natured  face. 

"  There !  He's  done !  I  said  so,"  continued  the  first 
not  without  satisfaction,  for  he  was  rival  for  champion- 
ship. 

"  Not  he !  "  asserted  the  second  gleefully  as  the  stumble 
was  overborne  by  an  extra  effort.  "  Trust  him  and  his 
luck !     He  wins !     Babar  wins !  " 

And  Nevian  foster-brother's  voice  was  the  loudest  in 
acclaim  as  the  frog-like  figure  with  wide-spread  legs, 
after  successfully  backing  the  long  row  of  bent  slaves 
arranged  —  with  due  regard  to  difficulty  —  adown  the 
meadow-path,  finally  overtopped  the  last  and  with  a 
'' hitll-lul-la  la!"  of  triumph  subsided  incontinently  into 

I 


2  KIjN^G-ERRANT 

the  wliKe  <"lov<:r.  And  tlieie  it  lay  on  its  back  gazing  at 
the  blue  sky  cheerfully. 

It  was  that  of  rather  a  lanky  boy ;  to  western  eyes  a 
well-grown  one  of  at  least  fifteen,  with  a  promise  of  six 
feet  and  more  of  manhood  in  its  long,  loose-jointed 
limbs.  But  Babar,  heir-apparent  to  this  little  kingdom 
of  Ferghana  was  only  in  his  twelfth  year.  His  face, 
nevertheless,  was  extraordinarily  intent,  with  an  intent- 
ness  beyond  his  years,  as  he  lay  silent  among  the  clover ; 
for  something  had  come  between  him  and  his  game, 
between  him  and  the  work-a-day  world.  Something  that 
came  to  him  often  with  the  sight  of  a  wide  stretch  of 
blue  sky,  a  narrow  stretch  of  blue  river,  or  even  with 
the  sight  of  a  flower  upon  that  river's  brim. 

How  glorious!  How  splendid  it  was  —  this  world  in 
which  he,  forsooth,  played  leap-frog!  The  clover  on 
which  he  lay,  how  sweet  it  smelt,  how  soft  it  was!  It 
was  just  like  a  mantle  of  lambskin,  covered  as  it  was,  till 
you  could  hardly  see  a  speck  of  green,  with  its  white, 
furry  blobs  of  blossom. 

A  lambskin  mantle !  —  that  was  a  good  description ! 

And  the  sky  was  like  the  turquoises  that  folk  brought 
down  from  the  higher  hills  in  the  summer  when  they 
were  not  weaving  the  purple  cloth,  which  somehow 
always  got  mixed  up  in  his  mind  with  the  pale  blue. 
Why  both  recalled  the  multi-coloured  tulips  on  the  moun- 
tain slopes  was  a  puzzle,  except  that  one  beauty  recalled 
another.  At  that  rate,  however,  memory  in  Ferghana 
would  be  unending,  for  though  it  was,  as  everyone  knew, 
situated  on  the  extreme  boundary  of  the  habitable  world, 
it  was  abundantly  pleasant ! 

The  lad's  amber-tinted  hazel  eyes  darkened  as  he  ran 
over  in  his  mind  the  excellencies  of  his  native  valley 
hidden  away  at  the  back  of  the  Pamirs. 

Its  snow-clad  hills  clipping  it  on  all  sidea  save  the 


KING-ERRANT  8 

west ;  its  running  streams ;  its  violets  —  so  sweet,  but  not 
piercing-sweet  like  a  rose;  —  its  profusion  of  fruits! 
Truly,  that  way  they  had  over  in  the  township  of 
Marghinan  of  removing  apricot  stones  and  putting  in 
chopped  almonds  instead  was  excellent  indeed  — 

"  Most  Mighty ! "  came  a  voice  breaking  in  on  his 
thoughts.     "  There  is  news  —  bad  news !  " 

The  voice  was  breathless,  yet  full  of  concern,  and 
Babar  sprang  to  his  feet,  alert  in  a  second.  A  messenger 
stood  before  him ;  one  who  had  come  far  and  fast.  And 
in  his  hand  was  a  blue  kerchief ;  therefore  he  was  a  mes- 
senger of  death. 

Death?  Incredible  in  this  splendid  joyful  world!  A 
sudden  surge  of  resentful  life-blood  seemed  to  stop  the 
boyish  heart  with  its  tumultuous  claim  for  free  passage. 

"Well?''  he  asked  thickly. 

The  answer  :came  like  a  blow ;  dully,  yet  with  stun- 
ning force. 

"Your  father,  O  King!" 

His  father!  And  he,  Babar,  was  King!  In  the 
rush  of  realisation  incredulity  came  uppermost. 

"But  how—?" 

He  stood  there  bare-headed,  unbelieving,  while  the 
others  crowded  round  to  listen. 

It  was  a  simple  enough  tragedy.  Omar-Shaikh,  his 
father  had  been  feeding  his  tumbler  pigeons  on  the  scarp 
of  a  precipice  which  overhung  the  steep  ravine  below  the 
fort  at  Akhsi.  He  had  been  watching  them  against  the 
blue  void,  throwing  golden  grain  to  make  them  play  their 
antics,  when  the  ground  had  given  way  beneath  his  feet 
and  he  had  been  precipitated  on  to  the  river  rocks  be- 
neath. That  was  all.  The  little  group  of  listeners 
showed  shocked  faces,  but  Babar,  even  as  he  heard  the 
tale  with  dismayed  grief,  seemed  to  see  the  fluttering 
white  wings  of  the  startled  pigeons,  to  see  the  startled 
soul  amongst  them,  taking  its  flight  — 


4  KING-ERRANT 

Whitherwards ?  —  Gone!  .  .  .  Never  to  be  seen 
again!  Yet  how  clearly  he  saw  him  now  .  .  . 
short,  stout,  a  bushy  beard  hiding  a  humorous  mouth 
.  .  .  the  turban  without  folds  and  with  such  long 
ends  .  .  .  the  tunic  all  over  tight  .  .  .  how 
often  the  strings  had  burst  and  how  angry  he  had  been 
at  consequent  childish  gigglings     .     .     . 

A  sudden  spasm  of  remorse  for  idle  thoughts  sent 
the  son's  memory  back  to  his  father's  kindness  .  .  . 
a  good  sportsman  too,  though  but  a  poor  shot  with  the 
bow  .  .  .  still  with  uncommon  force  in  his  fists 
—  everyone  he  had  ever  hit  had  gone  down  before 
father's.     .     .     . 

The  last  word  brought  memory  of  a  still  dearer  tie. 

"My  mother?"  asked  the  boy  swiftly,  "my  mother? 
How—" 

Then  the  real  meaning  of  what  he  had  heard  came 
to  him.  He  gave  a  little  short,  sharp  cry  and  cast 
himself  face  downwards  on  the  sweet-smelling  white 
clover. 

And  all  the  joy  of  splendid  life  passed  from  him. 

Nevian  foster-brother  who  worshipped  him,  went  over 
to  him  and  crouched  beside  him. 

"  It  is  God's  will,  sire,"  he  mumbled  mechanically. 
"  Kwaja  Kazi  says  so,  and  Kwaja  Kazi  is  a  saint." 

But  saintship  did  not  interest  that  young  human  heart, 
face  to  face  for  the  first  time  with  the  deprivation  of 
death. 

Meanwhile  those  others,  the  bearded  nobles  and  broad- 
faced  courtiers  who  had  crowded  out  at  the  news,  looked 
at  each  other  in  doubt. 

What  had  best  be  done?  The  times  were  troublous. 
Their  new  King  was  over-young.  The  King  of  Sam- 
arkand, the  King  of  Tashkend,  his  paternal  uncles,  were 
already   on   the   war-path.     The   former  almost   within 


KING-ERIIANT  5 

striking  distance;  and  this  news  of  death  would  hasten, 
not  retard. 

In  such  case,  might  not  refuge  in  the  hills  be  wise? 
At  any  rate  till  Kasim-Beg,  most  faithful  of  Governors, 
and  Hassan- Yakoob,  wiliest  of  advisers,  could  be  recalled 
from  the  front? 

But,  while  they  still  cogitated,  Babar,  who  even  at 
that  age  was  not  to  be  handled,  rose  suddenly,  the  tear- 
stains  still  on  his  sun-tanned  cheeks.  His  voice,  how- 
ever, was  firm. 

"  To  horse,  gentlemen !  "  he  cried.  "  I  go  to  secure  my 
kingdom ! " 

He  was  on  his  lean-necked,  goose-rumped  Turkhes- 
tan  mare  Zulaikha  almost  before  the  words  passed  his 
lips,  and  ere  two  minutes  had  sped  the  low  arched  gate- 
way of  the  city  echoed  and  re-echoed  to  the  hoofs  of 
horses,  as  —  the  riders  low  bowed  upon  their  saddles  — 
they  swept  through  in  a  stream  of  tails  and  tassels.  So 
had  it  echoed  many  a  time  to  the  wild  Turkhoman  cav- 
alry, since  life  in  those  days  was  one  long  war  and 
rumour  of  war. 

"  My  King !  '*  said  Shiram-Taghai  spurring  close  as 
Barbar  drew  rein  on  the  citadel  terrace,  and  laying  a  de- 
taining hand  on  his  bridle.  "  That  way  lies  death ! 
Thine  uncles  mean  evil!     Come  with  us  to  the  hills." 

For  an  instant  the  boy  hesitated  and  his  eyes  sought 
the  distant  blue  of  the  mountains. 

There,  doubtless,  lay  safety  —  but  what  of  that  un- 
known quantity  —  kingship  ? 

He  had  no  ideals  of  it.  He  had  not  even  been  brought 
up  to  expect  the  chiefship.  In  those  days  succession 
was  too  uncertain  for  anticipation.  But  it  was  some- 
thing now  within  his  grasp.     What  if  he  lost  it? 

Still  the  faces  around  him  were  anxious  and  their  own- 
ers were  old;  they  had   experience.     And   he  was  so 


6  KING-ERRANT 

young!  How  young  none  knew  but  himself.  As  this 
thought  came  he  felt  inclined  to  cry  out-loud  for  his 
mother  as  in  his  heart  he  was  crying  for  her  loving  care. 

Then  from  the  citadel  came  a  running  messenger  to 
bid  him  enter  without  fear. 

"  It  IS  a  trick,  Sire,"  protested  Shiram-Taghai. 
"  Safety  lies  with  us." 

And  others  echoed  his  words;  so  the  lad  wavered,  un- 
certain, till  an  old  man  seated  in  the  sunshine  mumbling 
to  himself,  his  long  white  beard  wagging  the  while, 
spoke  chance  words  that  gave  him  the  clue. 

"  Whatever  happens  is  God's  will,  as  the  saints  say." 

Five  minutes  afterwards  the  young  King  knelt  before 
Khwaja  Kazi,  the  saint  of  his  family,  for  his  decision. 
He  was  a  thin  ascetic-looking  man  whose  sunken  eyes, 
hollowed  by  many  fasts,  hardened  by  much  thought,  but 
softened  by  the  unshed  tears  of  a  lonely  life,  dipped  crit- 
ically into  the  clear,  shadowless  youth  of  the  hazel  ones 
and  appraised  the  character  of  the  young  face  with  its 
fine-lipped  mouth  that  tempered  the  strong  square  of  the 
chin.  And  Khwaja  Kazi  knew  the  inside  of  the  boy  as 
well.  He  had  watched  him  from  birth ;  and  lawyer  and 
judge  by  profession,  had  accurately  gauged  the  volatile, 
versatile  vitality  which  would  carry  him  triumphantly 
over  all  the  obstacles  in  the  leap-frog  race  of  life.  But 
he  saw  the  dangers  ahead  also,  and  he  loved  the  lad 
as  his  own  soul;  as  indeed,  despite  all  his  faults,  most 
people  did  love  Babar  in  fortune  and  misfortune,  in  sick- 
ness and  in  health. 

And  the  keen  observer  noticed  how  firmly  the  young 
hand  closed  over  his  scimitar-hilt.  It  was  enough  for 
one  accustomed  to  weigh  evidence  and  give  verdicts. 

"  Draw  thy  sword,  my  son !  and  stand  firm ! " 

The  decree  fell  on  glad  ears.  The  boy  was  on  his 
feet  in  a  second  and  the  war-shout  of  his  race  rang 


KTNG-ERRANT  7 

through  the  smoke-grimed  old  hall.  Kingship  lay  be- 
fore him. 

As  yet,  however,  the  tragedy  of  death  clouded  his  out- 
look. His  dead  father  awaited  burial  at  Akshi,  thirty 
miles  distant;  but  ere  he  could  start  thitherwards  many 
arrangements  and  new  appointments  had  to  be  made. 
The  novelty  of  power  carried  him  far  from  thought.  It 
was  dream-like  to  be  giving  orders  when  but  an  hour 
before  he  had  existed  solely  by  the  pleasure  and  permis- 
sion of  his  father;  as  every  other  son  in  Moghulistan 
lived  in  those  quaint  old  days. 

It  was  dark,  therefore,  ere  he  and  his  galloping  party 
stumbled  over  the  stone  causeways  leading  up  to  the 
high-perched  citadel  at  Akshi.  Too  late  to  disturb  the 
women-folk,  who,  outworn  by  wailing,  had  gone  to  rest. 
But  a  little  knot  of  long-robed  physicians  showed  him 
the  dead  body  of  his  father,  lying  ready  for  the  funeral 
on  an  open  bier  in  the  Audience  Hall.  Babar  had  often 
seen  death  before,  but  never  in  this  guise,  with  watchers 
and  flaring  torches  and  all  the  insignia  of  chiefship  dis- 
carded, before  the  poor  deserted  shell  of  power. 

It  impressed  his  emotional  nature  vividly,  and  the 
mystery  and  the  pity  of  it  went  with  him  to  the  dim  royal 
room  —  so  rough  in  its  ancient  royalty  —  where  his 
father  had  been  wont  to  sleep,  and  where  the  very  touch 
of  the  royal  quilts,  surcharged  with  the  personality  of 
the  cold  dead  in  whose  place  he  lived,  seemed  to  burn  in 
upon  his  young  body  and  keep  it  awake.  Not  with  con- 
cern or  regret  for  things  past,  but  with  keen  curiosity 
as  to  what  was  going  to  happen  in  the  future  to  one 
Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  commonly  called  Babar. 

Lineal  descendant  of  Timur  the  Earth  Trembler;  also 
of  the  Great  Barbarian  Ghengis  Khan,  was  he  to  follow 
in  their  footsteps  of  conquest?  Or  would  he  be  snuffed 
out  at  once  by  Uncle  Ahmed  of  Samarkand?    Where- 


8  KING-ERRANT 

fore,  God  knew,  since  he,  Babar,  had  never  done  his 
uncle  any  harm.  On  the  contrary;  if  he  lived,  he  would 
have  to  marry  that  uncle's  daughter  Ayesha.  .  .  . 
Here  his  vagrant  thoughts  wandered  to  remembrance  of 
how  sick  he  had  been  from  overeating  himself  on 
sweets  at  the  betrothal  ceremonies; — that  was  his  very 
earliest  real  recollection — when  he  was  five  years  old. 

Then  there  was  Uncle  Mahmud  of  Tashkend.  Even 
in  the  dark  the  boy's  cheek  flushed  at  the  mere  remem- 
brance of  him;  equally  devoid  of  courage  and  modesty, 
of  unbelieving  disposition,  keeping  buffoons  and  scoun- 
drels about  him  who  enacted  their  scurvy  and  disgrace- 
ful tricks  in  the  very  face  of  the  court,  and  even  at 
public  audiences!  —  of  no  outward  appearance  either, 
but  all  rough-hewn  and  speaking  very  ill     .     .     . 

The  lad,  always  unsparing  of  epithet,  painted  the  por- 
trait with  remorseless  hand.  So  his  thoughts  passed 
to  Mahmud's  sons,  his  first  cousins.  He  knew  them 
well,  but  Masaud  the  eldest  was  a  nincompoop,  and  as 
for  Baisanghar?  What  was  there  that  jarred  at  times 
in  Baisanghar?  Baisanghar  who  was  so  charming,  so 
elegant,  so  clever,  so  sweet-tempered? 

Here  the  lad's  mind  passed  swiftly,  without  conscious 
cause,  to  his  own  sister,  Dearest-One  as  he  always 
called  her ;  for  he  was  given  to  caressing  nicknames  for 
those  he  loved.  And  he  loved  none  better  than  the  tall, 
straight  girl,  five  years  his  senior,  who  hectored  him 
and  petted  him  by  turns.  But  she  ought  really  to  get 
married;  it  was  nonsense  to  say  you  preferred  being  a 
sainted  Canoness! 

Baisanghar  did  not  say  that,  though,  he,  too,  refused 
to  marry.  He  said  women  were  unnecessary  evils. 
Was  that  true?  Not  that  it  mattered,  since  he,  Babar, 
would  have  to  marry,  because  he  was  King    .    .    . 

King!    Would  it  make  him  happier,  he  wondered? 


KING-ERRANT  9 

Could  anyone  be  happier  than  he  had  been  in  this  splen- 
did world?  Supposing  it  was  to  make  him  unhappy? 
Supposing  it  took  the  charm  from  life    .     .     . 

The  idle  thoughts  went  on  and  on.  He  felt  sleepy, 
yet  he  could  not  sleep.  And  by  and  by  the  glimmering 
oblong  of  the  unglazed  window  kept  him  watching  the 
slow  growth  of  light. 

Out  on  the  hills,  the  still  dawn  must  be  stepping 
softly  so  as  not  to  waken  the  world  too  soon  .  .  . 
soft,  sandalled  feet  among  the  snow-set  flowers.     .     .     . 

The  mere  thought  of  it  was  sufficient  to  rouse  him 
thoroughly.  He  rose,  passed  to  the  window,  and 
thrust  his  young  body  into  the  chill  air  of  dawn.  All 
shadow!  A  deeper  shadow  in  the  valley,  a  lighter 
shadow  in  the  encircling  hills,  and  above  it  all  the  clear, 
grey,  pellucid  shadow  of  the  sky. 

Hark!  That  was  the  dawn  cry  of  the  wild  fowl  on 
the  marsh  and  he  held  his  breath  to  listen  like  the  young 
Narcissus,  while  the  whole  joy  of  splendid  life  seemed 
to  fill  his  world  once  more.  He  did  not  realise  —  few 
humans  do  —  that  he  was  but  listening  for  the  echo  of 
himself;  the  self  which  came  back  to  him  from  sights 
and  sounds,  that  many  a  better  man  might  have  seen 
and  heard  unmoved. 

So  he  waited  and  watched  till  the  eastern  sky  showed 
pale  primrose,  and  the  unseen  sun  encarnadined  the  dis- 
tant snows,  and  separated  the  white  morning  mists  from 
the  blue  shadows  of  the  hills. 

It  was  a  new  day,  and  yonder  over  the  brow  of  the 
road  were  pennons  and  lance-points.  The  tribesmen 
were  coming  to  bury  the  dead,  to  do  homage  to  the 
living. 

It  was  a  busy  day,  filled  up  with  long-drawn,  intricate 
ceremonal.  Bare  time  for  more  than  one  tight  clasp 
of  tearless  mother  and  tearless  son,  while  that  Dearest- 


10  KING-ERRANT 

One,  his  sister,  stood  by  silent,  the  tear-stains  still  on 
her  cheeks.  But  that  did  not  matter ;  those  three  un- 
derstood each  other. 

And  old  Isan-daulet,  his  maternal  grandmother,  had 
set  emotion  aside  also,  and,  stern  old  disciplinarian  as 
she  was,  had  bidden  him  —  in  high  staccato  phrases 
which  betrayed  her  effort  to  keep  calm  —  take  his 
father^s  place  as  bravely  as  he  could. 

And  he  did  what  he  could,  though  it  was  a  strain 
upon  his  twelve  young  years,  for  the  long  night  had 
left  him  feverish  and  the  long  day  with  its  need  for 
initiative  had  outwearied  him.  So  that  when  at  last 
the  ordeal  was  over,  and  he  was  free  to  seek  the  wom- 
en's apartments  for  rest,  his  nerves  were  all  a-rack,  his 
pulse  fast  and  irregular. 

He  found  his  grandmother  alone  by  the  big  coal  fire. 
Mother  and  sister,  outwearied  also,  had  gone  to  bed; 
the  best  place,  the  old  lady  said  oracularly,  for  sore  eyes 
and  broken  hearts.  And  Babar  felt  it  was  better  so. 
The  company  of  the  stern-featured,  soft-hearted  old 
woman  of  whose  sagacity  and  clear-sightedness  he 
stood  somewhat  in  awe,  would  be  more  bracing  than 
the  tears  which  must  come  sooner  or  later. 

People  said  he  was  like  his  grandmother.  Was  he, 
he  wondered,  as  he  lay  prone  on  the  sheepskin  rug 
watching  the  firelight  on  her  fine  old  face. 

"  Tell  me !  "  he  said  suddenly,  "  the  tale  of  thy  youth 
—  of  Jaimal  and  the  lover  who  was  slain." 

But  Isan-daulet,  though  she  smiled,  shook  her  wise 
old  head. 

"  Nay,  child !  Such  tales  do  to  stir  phlegm.  They 
are  not  meet  when  the  humours  are  already  disturbed." 

The  boy  leaned  over  on  his  elbows  and  looked  up  at 
her. 

"  Like  cures  like  by  comparison !     Twould  steady  my 


•         ••••••- 


•      •  •. 


•  •  '^  •  •  •• 

•  •  •   •  •  • 


•  •  •         • 


'I  WOULD  THE  COURT  PAINTER  WERE  NOT  A  FOOL,' 
SHE  SAID   REGRETFULLY" 


KING-ERRANT  11 

pulse  to  know  others  throbbed.     Feel  mine,  Grandam 

—  how  it  beats !  " 

She  took  the  thin,  muscular  wrist  held  out  to  her 
and  appraised  it  judicially. 

"  I  will  give  thee  a  purge  the  morrow's  mom,"  she 
said  shortly.  "  That  will  keep  thy  head  cooler  than  idle 
tales ;  there  is  nothing  for  hot  boy's  blood  like  a  purge." 

Babar's  face  showed  obstinate  yet  whimsical.  "  I 
will  not  take  it,  nanni,  if  thou  wilt  not  tell  —  so  there! 
And  Kings  are  not  to  be  coerced,  see  you,  by  black 
draughts,  as  mere  boys  are.  And  'tis  the  first  boon  I 
have  asked  from  thee  —  as  I  am/' 

The  ring  of  almost  apprehension  in  the  last  words 
was  too  much  for  the  old  woman,  who  loved  the  lad 
as  the  apple  of  her  eye.  She  laid  her  hand  caressingly 
on  the  boy's  hair.  It  was  cut,  Florentine  fashion,  to  the 
ears,  and  the  ends,  outsweeping  in  a  gentle  curve  were 
sun-burned  browner  than  the  rest  of  the  dark  head. 

"  It  is  little  to  tell,  sweetheart,  save  that  it  shows  how 
even  womanhood  may  confound  strength  by  being  res- 
olute.  It  was  not  many  years  after  my  lord,  your 
grandfather,  married  me  in  my  father  the  Khan's  tents 
upon  the  Steppes.  He  was  a  bold,  brave  man,  was  my 
lord,  and  like  all  bold,  brave  ones,  he  fought  sometimes 
and  won,  and  sometimes  he  fought  and  lost.  *  No  bat- 
tle is  ended  save  by  Death,'  remember  that,  O!  Zahir- 
ud-din  Mahomed!     And  once  when  he  lost,  his  women 

—  I  was  one  —  fell  into  the  hands  of  Jaimal  Shaikh, 
his  enemy.  And  he  —  low-bred  hound  who  knew  not 
the  first  principles  of  politeness!  —  did  not  even  keep 
me  for  himself!  —  I  was  not  ill-looking  in  those  days, 
my  child  —  but  sent  me  to  his  officer.  I,  the  wife  of 
Yunus  Khan,  Chagatai,  of  the  house  of  Timur  the 
Earth  Trembler!  Well!  the  fool  came  decked  as  for  a 
bridal   with   blandishments   and   perfumes,   and   I   wel- 


12  KING-ERRANT' 

corned  him.  Wherefore  not?  for  the  supper  was  good 
and  he  played  on  the  lute  passably.  But  when  that  was 
over,  and  we  withdrew  smiling  to  the  inner  room,  my 
maids  locked  the  door  by  my  orders,  stabbed  the  silly 
rake  to  death  and  flung  his  be-scented  body  through 
the  window  to  the  gutter.     'Twas  its  proper  place." 

The  old  voice  which  had  gained  strength  and  fire  in 
the  recital,  dropped  to  cold,  hard  finality. 

"And  Jaimal  Shaikh?"  queried  Babar  unwilling  to 
lose  a  word. 

"  He  sent  for  me  and  I  went.  *  Why  hast  thou  done 
this  evil  thing?'  he  asked.  'Because  thou  didst  worse,' 
I  answered.  '  Because  thou  sentest  me,  the  wife  of  a  liv- 
ing man,  to  another's  embrace.  Therefore  I  slew  him. 
Slay  me  also,  if  so  it  pleases  thee.' 

"  But  it  did  not  please  him.  *  Take  her  to  her  hus- 
band's prison,'  he  said,  *  and  leave  her  there.  They  are 
one  flesh  indeed.'  So  I  stopped  with  thy  grandfather 
and  comforted  him  until  his  star  rose  again.  Now,  get 
thee  to  thy  bed,  child,  and  see  thou  take  the  draught 
without  demur.  Remember  *  God  is  no  maker  of  the 
promise  breaker.'  'Twill  make  thee  feel  sick,  doubt- 
less ;  but  what  matter  if  the  result  be  good." 

Babar  made  a  wry  face  and  laughed.  *'  Thou  hast 
done  me  more  good  with  thy  tale,  revered  one!  Lo! 
I  can  see  thy  would-be  lover  in  the  gutter  and  my  es- 
teemed grandmother,  all  beautiful  as  a  bride,  peeking 
through  the  lattice  for  a  glimpse  of  his  corpse — " 

"  Go  to  thy  bed,  child,"  put  in  the  old  lady,  delighted. 
"  There  be  more  than  pictures  for  thy  sight  now ;  so 
may  the  Great  Maker  of  Kings  guard  thee,  his  crea- 
ture." 

And  that  night  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  commonly 
called  Babar,  forgot  that  he  was  King  in  sound,  dream- 
less, boyish  sleep. 


CHAPTER  II 

"There's  a  sweet  little  cherub  who  sits  up  aloft 
To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  Poor  Jack  I " 

In  truth,  Babar  needed  such  a  cherub  in  the  first 
days  of  his  King-ship,  for  Kasim  and  Hussan,  his 
two  advisers,  fell  foul  of  one  another.  The  former, 
bluff,  honest,  facetious,  a  pious,  faithful,  religious  Mos- 
lem who  carefully  abstained  from  forbidden  meats  and 
drinks,  and  whose  judgment  and  talents  were  uncom- 
monly good  though  he  could  neither  read  nor  write, 
was  for  the  forward  policy.  Hussan,  polished,  active, 
a  man  of  courage  who  wrote  excellent  verses  and  was 
remarkable  for  his  skill  in  playing  polo  and  leap-frog, 
was  for  diplomacy.  And  against  these  latter  quali- 
fications even  honest  Kasim's  ingenuous  and  elegant  vein 
of  wit  could  not  stand. 

At  least  in  young  Babar's  judgment.  Old  Isan- 
daulet  his  grandmother  was,  however,  of  a  different 
opinion,  and  even  Dearest-One,  his  sister,  ventured  to 
rally  him  gently  on  his  choice  of  Prime-minister. 

"  What,"  asked  Babar  hotly  in  reply,  "  is  Hussan  the 
worse  for  playing  games?  Is  a  man  the  worse  for  do- 
ing all  things  well  ?  " 

"  Nay !  but  rather  the  better  —  so  be  it  that  they  be 
men's  things,"  she  replied,  going  on  imperturbably  with 
the  embroidery  of  a  new  pennon  for  her  brother.  It 
was  green  and  violet,  his  favourite  colours,  and  she  was 
scrolling  a  text  on  it  in  crinkled  gold.  As  she  sat  in 
the  sunshine  on  the  flat  roof  of  the  citadel,  her  bare 
head  gleaming  brown  in  the  glare  of  light,  her  mourn- 
ing garment  of  dark  blue  short  in  the  sleeves  and  low 

13 


14,  KING-ERRANT 

at  the  neck  showing  her  wheat-coloured  skin,  she  was  a 
pretty  creature,  though  her  nose  was  too  long,  her  chin 
too  short  for  real  beauty:  that  lay  in  her  eyes,  amber- 
tinted  like  her  brother's. 

"  Man's  things !  What  be  man's  things  ? "  argued 
Babar  irritably.  "  Is  cousin  Baisanghar  no  man  be- 
cause he  could  help  thee  embroider  two  years  agone  ?  " 

The  princess  held  her  head  very  high.  It  was  not 
nice  of  her  brother  to  import  strange  young  men  into 
the  conversation,  and  distinctly  mean  of  him  to  mention 
that  old  breach  of  etiquette.  Had  she  not  heard  enough 
of  it  from  her  mother,  ever  since?  Luckily  grandam 
Isan-daulet,  being  desert-born,  had  not  been  so  shocked, 
or  life  would  have  been  unendurable.  And  as  for 
Baisanghar !  Everyone  knew  he  was  not  at  all  a  proper 
young  man,  though  he  was  so  charming,  so  sweet-tem- 
pered, so     .     .     . 

"  Lo !  brother ! "  she  said  with  asperity,  checking  her 
vagrant  thoughts,  "  if  one  fool  shook  a  baby's  rattle 
better  than  another,  he  would  be  wise  man  to  thee.  But 
'tis  not  I  only  who  find  leap-frog  Hussan  a  smooth- 
tongued hypocrite.     Grandmother  has  her  eye  on  him." 

"  Then  can  no  harm  happen,"  said  the  boy-King 
cheerfully,  rising,  however,  with  suspicious  alacrity  as  if 
to  escape  from  the  subject.  In  truth  he  was  somewhat 
afraid  of  old  Isan-daulet  though  he  tried  to  minimise  his 
awe  by  asserting  that  very  few  of  her  sex  could  equal 
her  in  sagacity! 

Events,  however,  had  marched  with  great  rapidity, 
and  Sultan  Ahmed,  his  uncle,  was  now  with  his  army 
but  sixteen  miles  from  Andijan. 

So  something  must  be  settled.  Kasim  was  for  de- 
fiance and  defence,  Hussan  for  diplomatic  and  dutiful 
submission ;  since  the  King  of  Samarkand  was,  ever, 
indubitably  suzerain-lord  of  Ferghana. 


KING-ERRANT  15 

"  Words  against  works,"  quoth  honest  Kasim,  who 
loved  to  be  epigrammatic.  His  experience  told  him  that 
if  you  fought  fair  you  failed  at  times,  but  in  the  end 
you  came  out  top  dog  in  the  general  scrimmage  of 
claims  and  clans. 

"  Nay ! ''  retorted  Hussan,  "  I  desire  diplomacy,  not 
dare-devil  disregard  of  common  precautions." 

Babar,  however,  frowned  at  both  as  he  sat  listening 
to  the  council  of  war  or  peace.  He  favoured  neither 
pugnacity  nor  deceit. 

"  Look  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  frowning.  "  All  ad- 
mit my  Uncle  Ahmed  to  be  a  fool  whom  fools  lead  by 
the  nose;  but  is  that  cause  why  I  should  treat  him  fool- 
ishly, and  so  disgrace  myself?  I  will  neither  fight  nor 
yield  till  I  have  made  him  understand  how  the  matter 
lies.  So,  let  a  scribe  be  brought  and  I  will  indite  him 
a  letter." 

"  No  letter  ever  did  any  good,"  grumbled  illiterate 
Kasim. 

"  Especially  if  it  be  not  received  nor  read,"  suggested 
Hussan  sardonically.  "  The  King  of  Samarkand  is  su- 
preme and  may  refuse  aught  but  a  personal  interview." 

Kasim  shot  furious  glances:  such  talk  savoured  to 
him  of  treason ;  but  Babar  only  looked  gravely  from  one 
adviser  to  the  other. 

"So  be  it,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  If  he  refuse  recep- 
tion or  understanding,  then  —  if  so  it  pleases  God  —  I 
can  defeat  him  at  my  leisure.  Meanwhile  write  thus, 
O  scribe !  —  with  all  proper  titles,  compliments  and 
reverences  —  '  I,  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  Babar,  right- 
ful heir,  and  hy  acclaim  (underline  that,  scribe!)  of  this 
Kingdom  of  Ferghana,  do  with  courtesy  and  reasonable- 
ness point  out  that  it  is  plain  that  if  you  take  this 
country  you  must  place  one  of  your  servants  in  charge 
of  it,  since  you  reign  at  Samarkand.     Now  I  am  at  once 


16  KING-ERRANT 

your  servant  and  your  son.  Also  I  have  a  hereditary 
right  to  the  government.  If  therefore  you  entrust  me 
with  this  employment,  your  purpose  will  be  attained  in 
a  far  more  easy  and  satisfactory  way  than  by  fighting 
and  killing  a  number  of  people  (and  horses)  needlessly. 
Wherefore  I  remain  your  loyal  feudatory  Zahir-ud-din 
Mahomed  Babar.' " 

He  beamed  round  on  the  council  for  approval  of  this 
logical  argument,  then  added  hastily,  "  And,  scrivener ! 
put  '  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  Babar  '  large ;  and  *  King  of 
Ferghana '  larger  still  at  the  very  end.  That  will  show 
him  my  intentions.'' 

If  it  did,  the  effect  was  poor:  for  though  the  letter 
was  duly  engrossed  on  silk  paper  sprinkled  with  rose- 
essence  and  gold-dust,  enclosed  in  a  brocade  bag,  and 
sent  to  the  invading  camp  at  Kaba,  the  only  answer  to 
its  irrefutable  logic  was  a  further  advance  of  spear- 
points  and  pennons  to  within  four  miles  of  the  citadel. 

Kasim  was  jubilant.  Jocose  and  bellicose  he  routed 
out  armouries  for  catapults,  and  kept  long  files  of  men 
busy  in  passing  up  stones  from  the  river  bed,  while  for- 
age parties  raided  the  bazaars  for  provisions. 

If  there  was  to  be  a  defence  it  must  be  the  longest 
on  record,  even  if  it  were  unsuccessful  in  the  end. 

Babar  himself  donned  mail  and  corselet  for  the  first 
time.  But  he  discarded  the  latter  soon ;  it  made  him,  he 
said,  feel  like  a  trussed  pheasant,  and  he  preferred  the 
wadded  coatee  which  would  turn  most  scimitar  cuts. 
It  made  him  look  burly  as  he  strode  round  the  ramparts, 
so  that  the  sentries  smiled  to  themselves  and  felt  a  glow 
at  the  heart  remembering  how  young  he  was. 

The  stoutness,  resolution,  and  unanimity  of  his  sol- 
diers and  subjects  to  fight  to  the  last  drop  of  their  blood, 
the  last  gasp  of  their  life,  without  yielding,  filled  the 
boy  with  unmixed  admiration.    It  was  part  of  the  gen- 


KING-ERRANT  17 

eral  splendidness  of  things  which  almost  dazzled  him. 

"  My  younger  troops  display  distinguished  courage," 
he  said  gravely,  and  Kasim  hid  a  smile  with  difficulty  as 
he  replied,  "  They  have  youth  in  their  favour,  Most 
Excellent.     It  is  a  great  gift." 

Then  he  went  out  and  roared  over  the  joke  on  the 
ramparts  to  the  sentries'  huge  delight.  When  next  the 
young  King  went  his  rounds,  smiles  greeted  him  every^ 
where.  He  was  a  King  to  be  proud  of,  and  his  family 
was  worth  fighting  for  —  all  of  them!  Especially  the 
tall,  slim  figure  with  close-drawn  veil  which  would  often 
accompany  the  King  at  dusk.  For  Dearest-One  was 
keenly  interested  in  things  militant,  and  was  free  to 
come  and  go,  as  the  Turkhi  women  were,  with  due  re- 
strictions. And  these  were  few  in  Babar's  clan,  which, 
as  Grandmother  Isan-daulet  would  boast,  was  "  desert 
born." 

But,  after  all,  the  preparations  were  unnecessary. 
The  little  cherub  intervened,  rather  to  the  boy's  chagrin, 
though  he  admitted  piously  that  Providence  in  its  per- 
fect power  and  wisdom  had  brought  certain  events  to 
pass  which  frustrated  the  enemies'  designs,  and  made 
them  return  whence  they  came  without  success,  and 
heartily  repenting  them  of  their  attempt. 

An  exceedingly  satisfactory  but  at  the  same  time  a 
disappointing  end  to  his  first  chance  of  a  real  fine  fight ; 
and  he  watched  one  reverse  after  another  overtake  his 
foes  on  the  other  side  of  the  Black-river  with  almost 
sympathetic  eyes. 

"There  is  a  murrain  amongst  their  horses  now,"  re- 
ported the  chief  farrier  one  day,  "  my  sister's  son  who 
is  in  service  with  the  Samarkandis  crept  over  last  night 
to  beg  condiments  for  Prince  Baisanghar's  charger 
which  is  down  —  the  same  that  the  Most  Excellent  gave 
him  three  years  agone/' 


18  KING-ERRANT 

"  Baisanghar  ?  '*  echoed  Babar  hurriedly.  "  I  knew 
not  that  he  was  —  amongst  mine  enemies !  "  Then  he 
paused,  and  reason  came  to  him.  "  Likely  he  is  with 
his  father  of  Tashkend  who  hovers  on  the  edge  of  in- 
vasion, and  hath  ridden  over  —  there  is  no  harm  in 
that.     What  didst  give  the  fellow  ?  " 

The  farrier  laughed.  "A  flea  in  his  ear,  Most 
Clement!  A  likely  story,  indeed,  that  I  should  help 
our  enemies." 

Babar  frowned  and  turned  away.  *'  Twas  a  good 
horse,  poor  beast,"  he  murmured.  And  afterwards,  he 
went  over  to  the  women's  quarters,  and,  as  his  wont 
was,  retailed  the  story  to  those  three,  Isan-daulet,  his 
mother  and  Dearest-One.  The  grim  old  Turkhoman 
lady  was  sympathetic  about  the  horses,  as  a  daughter 
of  the  Steppes  must  needs  be,  but  stern  over  the  neces- 
sities of  war.  His  mother,  more  soft-hearted  than  ever 
by  reason  of  her  mourning,  wept  silently.  But  Dear- 
est-One, was,  as  ever,  a  joy. 

"  I  would  bastinado  the  farrier,"  she  said  vindictively. 
"  The  poor  brute ;  and  then  think  of  cousin  Baisanghar. 
He  loved  the  horse ! " 

Her  beautiful  eyes  flashed  and  yet  were  melting,  her 
long  brown  fingers  gripped  her  embroidery  closer  yet 
more  caressingly.  Her  brother  sate  and  looked  at  her 
admiringly,  yet  with  a  certain  diffidence.  Sometimes 
Dearest-One  went  beyond  him;  she  seemed  to  unfold 
wings  and  skim  away  into  another  world.  And  when 
he  asked  her  whither  she  went,  she  would  smile  mys- 
teriously and  say: 

"  Thou  wilt  unfold  thy  wings  also,  some  day,  O 
little-big-one,  and  find  a  new  world  for  thyself." 

There  was  little  leisure  now,  however,  for  aught  but 
watch  and  ward.  Any  moment  of  the  day  or  night 
might  bring  assault ;  but  the  days  passed  and  none  came. 


KING-ERRANT  19 

And  then  one  morning  broke  and  showed  a  smaller 
camp  than  had  been  on  the  low  lying  river  bank  the 
night  before;  there  was  a  bustle,  too,  about  the  still- 
standing  tent  pegs,  and  with  the  first  glint  of  sunlight 
one  Dervish  Mahomed  Turkhau  rode  over  the  narrow 
bridge  and  demanded,  on  the  part  of  his  master,  an 
audience  with  Hussan.  Old  Kasim  looked  daggers,  but 
there  was  no  objecting.  By  virtue  of  his  position  as 
Prime-minister  Hussan  was  the  man  to  go,  and  he  went. 
So  out  in  the  Place-of-Festivals  beyond  the  gates,  they 
met  and  parleyed:  thus  patching  up  a  sort  of  peace,  as 
Babar  reported  contemptuously  to  his  faithful  three. 
He  was  intensely  disgusted  and  disappointed,  while 
Kasim  looked  sorrowfully  at  his  piles  of  stones. 

"  They  will  do  for  next  time,"  he  said  finally,  cheering 
himself  up  with  the  remembrance  that  there  were  many 
other  claimants  to  the  throne  of  Ferghana  to  be  reck- 
oned with  besides  Sultan  Ahmed.  And  by  evening 
most  of  the  garrison  had  found  solace  for  their  disap- 
pointment in  overeating  themselves,  after  the  disci- 
plined rations  which  Kasim-Beg,  mindful  of  the  possi- 
bility of  a  long  siege,  had  already  ordained;  but  Babar 
and  his  foster-brother  Nevian  were  out  all  day  on  their 
little  Turkhoman  horses,  chasing  the  white  deer  and 
shooting  with  their  bows  and  arrows  at  a  cock  pheasant 
or  two. 

They  brought  home  one  in  the  evening  which,  as  the 
boy  boasted,  was  so  fat,  that  four  men  icould  have  dined 
on  the  stew  of  it! 

"  'Twill  do  for  our  dinner  anyhow,"  said  Babar's 
mother,  and  thereinafter  she  and  Isan-daulet  bullied 
cooks  and  scullions  and  gently  quarrelled  with  each 
other  for  a  good  two  hours  over  the  proper  family 
recipe  for  making  ''  ishkdnah.'* 

And  afterwards  they  sat  together  in  an  arched  sort 


20  KING-ERRANT 

of  balcony  vestibule  between  the  women's  apartments 
and  the  men's  rooms  and  talked  happily,  yet  soberly  of 
the  future.  Old  Isan-daulet  indeed,  waxed  prophetic. 
"  See  you,  my  sons-in-law  will  come  to  harm,  not  good. 
Ahmed  has  had  to  renounce  his  evil  desires.  Mahmud 
will  have  to  do  the  same;  and  let  them  pray  God  He 
send  not  punishment  also."  And  she  pursed  up  her 
thin  lips  and  looked  as  if  she  knew  something. 

But  the  Khanum,  Babar's  mother,  said  little;  her 
heart  was  still  sad  and  she  crept  away  early  to  her  bed, 
followed  after  awhile  by  Isan-daulet,  leaving  stern  in- 
junctions on  Dearest-One  not  to  sit  up  over-long. 

So  brother  and  sister  were  left  alone,  and  she  went 
and  sat  beside  him  as  he  dangled  his  legs  over  the 
parapet  of  the  balcony;  for  he  dearly  loved  looking 
down  from  a  height.  It  was  to  be  a  dark  night  so  he 
could  see  little  even  of  the  roofs  below,  or  the  slabs  of 
stone  let  into  the  wall  at  intervals  to  form  a  sort  of  lad- 
der by  which  a  bold  man  could  climb  from  one  to  the 
other.  And  beyond,  all  was  shadow,  darker  in  some 
places  than  others.  Besprinkled  too  with  stars:  the 
moving  star  or  two  of  a  lantern  in  the  earth-shadow, 
but  in  the  sky  those  changeless,  changeful  beacons,  those 
twinkling  tireless  stars,  motionless  in  their  constella- 
tions, yet  ever  moving  on  and  on    .     .    . 

Round  what?    .     .     . 

"  Look !  "  he  cried  suddenly,  "  the  scimitar  of  the 
Warrior  is  sheathed  in  the  hills  —  my  hills !  " — 

And  it  was  so.  Orion  shone  to  the  north,  setting 
slowly  behind  the  mighty  rampart  of  shadowed  moun- 
tains in  which  the  starry  sword  was  already  hidden. 

They  sat  silent  for  a  little  while,  hand  in  hand,  like 
the  children  that  they  were.  And  then  suddenly  a 
noise  below  them,  made  Babar  swing  his  legs  to  the 
ground  and  stand  firm  before  his  sister. 


KING-ERRANT  21 

"Who  goes?"  he  asked  and  his  voice  rang  through 
the  darkness;  but  no  answer  came. 

"  Twas  a  falling  stone,  methinks,"  said  his  sister  care- 
lessly; yet  even  as  she  spoke  she  also  sprang  to  her 
feet,  every  atom  of  her,  soul  and  body  alert  for  some- 
thing, she  scarce  knew  what. 

She  knew,  however,  in  a  second,  for  a  darker  shadow 
showed  vaguely  at  the  end  of  the  balcony,  vaulted  lightly 
over  the  parapet,  and  a  pleasant  voice  said  gaily  — 

"  Mirza  Baisanghar  of  the  House  of  Timur,  cousin 
to  the  King  of  Ferghana,  at  your  service." 

"  Baisanghar !  "  echoed  Babar.  "  How  camest 
thou? — "  then,  even  in  his  confusion  remembering,  as 
he  generally  did,  les  convenances  for  others  he  added: 
"Thou  hadst  best  retire,  my  sister,  after  making  thy 
appropriate  salutation." 

So,  for  one  second  the  girl's  eyes  straining  through 
the  starlight  could  see  her  cousin.  A  charming  figure 
truly!  Not  dressed,  like  her  brother,  in  country 
clothes,  but  in  the  silks  and  satins  of  the  town.  A 
dainty  figure  too,  of  middle  height  and  slender  make, 
yet  manly  withal.  The  round  face,  unlike  the  faces 
of  his  cousins,  showing  Turkhoman  descent  unmis- 
takably, yet  with  such  indescribable  attractiveness. 

"  May  the  Peace  of  the  Most  High  be  upon  you,  my 
cousin,"  she  said  softly  and  her  voice  fluttered. 

"  And  may  His  Peace  remain  with  you,  fair  lady," 
he  replied  gravely,  with  the  finest  of  Court  salutes. 
That  was  all;  then  she  withdrew  and  the  shadows  hid 
her  going. 

"  By  my  soul,  Baisanghar,"  said  Babar  joyously, 
when  he  had  seated  himself  and  his  cousin  side  by  side 
among  the  cushions,  "  I  am  utterly  rejoiced  to  see  thee 
again;  though  how,  or  wherefore  thou  camest — " 

Prince    Baisanghar    interrupted    him    with    a    light 


22  KING-ERRANT 

laugh.  '^  How,  sayest  thou  ?  By  the  roof  of  course ; 
have  I  not  been  in  Andijan  before?  and  did  I  not  once 
climb  hitherwards  —  but  of  that,  no  more!  Only 
thou  wilt  have  to  set  thy  masons  to  work,  coz;  for 
by  God's  truth  my  foothold  was  but  rotten  more 
than  once.  Sure  I  must  be  born  to  the  bowstring  since 
sudden  death  will  not  have  me  elseways!  Yet  of  all 
seriousness,  I  came  nigh  to  being  dashed  to  pieces. 
And  as  for  wherefore?  Sure  I  came  in  duty  bound  to 
thank  my  kingly  cousin  for  his  courteous  gift  of  horse- 
medicine.  Aye !  and  for  my  horse  too  —  for  the  sec- 
ond time  —  since,  thanks  to  the  drugs,  he  is  alive  and 
kicking." 

Babar  sat  back.  "  Horse-medicines  ? "  he  echoed. 
"  What  horse-medicine  ?  —  I  sent  thee  none." 

Baisanghar  turned  his  head  instantly  to  the  darkness, 
and  his  voice  rose  perceptibly.  "  Yet  it  came  from  thee, 
my  cousin,"  he  replied  blandly,  "  with  thy  salutations. 
In  a  packet  of  silken  paper  —  such  as  ladies  use  for 
their  trinkets,  and  tied  with  crinkled  gold-thread  such 
as  ladies  use — " 

"  Yea !  it  was  I,  Mirza  Baisanghar,"  came  a  voice 
from  the  darkness ;  a  voice  clear,  unabashed.  "  I  sent 
it  —  I,  the  Princess  Royal,  so  there  is  no  need  for  fine 
wit  to  beat  about  the  bush.  I  sent  it,  because  —  be- 
cause my  brother  the  King  gave  thee  the  horse  and  I 
was  loth  —  loth  it  should  die." 

The  voice  trailed  away  faintly,  and  Mirza  Baisanghar's 
eyes  brimmed  over  with  soft  mirth;  while  Babar,  for- 
getful of  all  save  outraged  etiquette,  said  sternly: 

"  Sister !  and  I  told  thee  to  go." 

"  And  I  went,"  retorted  the  voice  rebelliously,  "  so 
far  as  eyesight  goes.  None  can  see  me  and  'tis  the 
woman's  right  to  listen." 

Prince  Baisanghar  laughed  aloud.     "  By  the  prophet ! 


KING-ERRANT  23 

she  speaks  truth,  :coz;  ladies  have  the  law  of  listening 
all  over  the  world;  aye!  and  of  speaking  too.  So  let 
be,  since  we  are  cousins  and  free-born  Chagatai  of  the 
house  of  Ghengis." 

But  Babar  stickled.  "Aye,  we  are;  but  thou  art  not 
—  not  on  thy  mother's  side." 

*'  My  mother ! ''  echoed  Baisanghar,  his  voice  full  of 
amusement.  "  Lo !  I  admit  it !  On  my  mother's  side 
I  am  beyond  salvation,  being  of  the  wild  Horde-of- 
Black-Sheep!  for  which  may  God  forgive  me  since  'tis 
not  my  fault  I  was  not  born  a  White-Lamb ! "  He 
named  the  two  great  divisions  of  his  Turkhoman  an- 
cestry with  infinite  zest,  then  went  on  lightly :  "  But  I 
fail  of  myself  in  other  ways  —  many  of  them.  I  made 
an  ode  concerning  it,  a  while  past,  that  sets  Baisanghar 
Black-Sheep-Prince  forth  to  a  nicety ! "  and  he  began 
airily  to  hum  a  tune. 

"  Sing  it  to  us,  cousin,'*  came  that  sweet  voice  from 
the  darkness. 

Thert  was  a  moment  of  silence,  as  if  the  hearer  were 
startled,  perhaps  touched;  then  came  the  almost  stiff 
reply : 

"  My  fair  cousin  is  too  kind.  The  ode  as  verse  is 
nothing  worth.  And  its  subject  is,  beyond  belief  —  bad! 
Still,  since  she  is  Princess-Royal  and  I  am  but  her  slave, 
the  order  is  obeyed." 

So  through  the  night  and  out  into  the  stars  his  high 
tenor  voice  rose  and  trilled  in  minor  quavers. 


w. 


■I 


Some  -  times  with    pi    -    ous     -  ness      I  crawl 

To     -    wards  High  Heav'n  on  whit  -  ed  wall 

Back  to       the     dust     and  dirt        I  fly 

Where       un  -  sub  -  stan  -  tial  shad  -  ows  lie. 


24  KING-ERRANT 

^^^  r  I  f  f  r 


i 


Or       rest 

a    - 

while 

on 

tree 

or 

flow'r 

And  dream 

but 

on 

ly 

for 

an 

hour. 

The  quavers  ceased,  and  there  was  silence  from  the 
darkness ;  but  Babar's  boyish  voice  rose  cheerful  as  ever. 

"  'Tis  good,  cousin,  and,  in  a  measure,  true.  Yet  need 
it  not  be  so,  surely.  Thou  hast  no  lack  of  parts.  Who 
is  more  accomplished,  of  more  pleasant  disposition  or 
more  charming  manners  ?  " 

"  I  came  not  hitherto  to  be  catalogued  for  sale,"  in- 
terrupted Baisanghar  curtly.  "  Of  a  truth  I  am  admir- 
able. I  sing,  I  dance,  I  paint  —  yea!  I  paint  uncom- 
mon —  I  could  paint  one  fair  lady's  portrait  could  I  but 
see  her  —  " 

Still  there  was  silence  from  the  shadows,  and  a  frown 
came  to  the  laughter-loving  face.  "  But  I  waste  time," 
he  continued,  "  and  I  have  much  to  say,  for  thine  ear 
alone." 

He  spoke  to  the  darkness,  and  he  waited,  his  face 
softening  while  a  whispering  sound  as  of  light  departing 
feet  rose  for  a  space  then  died  away  in  the  distance. 

It  was  a  good  half  hour  afterwards  that  Mirza  Baisan- 
ghar, who  knew  his  way  well  about  the  palace  at  Andi- 
jan,  came  with  buoyant  step  down  the  spiral  stairs  which 
ended  in  a  narrow  vaulted  passage  that  led  to  the  sally- 
port. 

His  cousin,  from  whom  he  had  parted  most  affection- 
ately, had  given  him  the  pass-word,  so,  secure  from  mo- 
lestation, he  was  carelessly  humming  the  refrain  of  his 
own  ode    .    .    . 

"Back  to  the  dirt  and  dust  I  fly 
Where  unsubstantial  shadows  lie." 


KING-ERRANT  25 

The  light-hearted,  cynical  words  echoed  along  the  arches 
and  on  them  rose  a  curious  sound,  half  cry,  half  sob, 
followed  by  a  torrent  of  hot  denial. 

"  It  is  a  lie !  It  is  not  true  and  thou  knowest  it.  Why 
shouldest  thou  say  such  things  of  thyself,  O  Baisanghar? 

—  they  —  they  —  hurt !  " 

The  young  man  stood  still  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

"  Dearest-One,"  he  whispered  at  last,  using  the  fa- 
miliar name  he  was  accustomed  to  hear  —  "  Dost  really 
care  —  so  much?  —  And  I  —  "  he  paused  and  a  mirth- 
less laugh  rang  false  upon  the  darkness  —  "  Princess  — 
I  cannot  even  thank  thee  —  I  —  I  dare  not  —  save  for 
the  horse-medicines  —  '*  Here  the  artificial  note  left 
his  voice  and  with  a  sudden  cry  **  If  I  could  —  if  I 
could,  beloved,"  his  eager  hands  went  out  and  found 
what  they  sought,  a  lithe,  warm,  young  body  ready  to 
his  arms.  But  almost  ere  he  clasped  it  he  thrust  it  from 
him  roughly. 

"  Go !  "  he  said  briefly.     ''  Go,  girl  —  and  forget  me 

—  if  thou  canst.  Yet  remember  this  —  if  ever  woman's 
lips  touch  mine,  they  would  be  yours  —  but  that  will  be 
never  —  never !  " 

The  next  instant  he  was  gone.  Dearest-One  stood, 
straining  her  eyes  unavailingly  into  the  darkness  for  a 
space:  then  she  cowered  down  in  on  herself  and  sat 
shivering,  her  wide  eyes  open,  fixed.  But  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  in  her  heaven  or  earth;  nothing  to 
be  realised,  save  that  he  would  not  even  touch  her. 


CHAPTER  III 

"Draw  near,  O  Man!  and  lift  thy  dreamy  eyes. 
See!  this  the  ball;  this  the  arena  too 
Where,  mounted  on  the  steed  of  Love,  the  prize 
Is  to  be  won  by  him  who — God  in  view — 
Strikes  skilfully. 

The  Goal  is  distant;  narrow  too  the  Field; 
Yet  strike  with  freedom.    God  will  send  the  Ball 
Thy  hand  as  sped  in  faith,  where  it  should  fall. 
Backwards  and  forward  strike  and  if  thou  yield 
Yield   cheerfully." 

Grandmother  Isan-daulet  proved  true  prophet. 
Ere  forty  days  had  passed  from  that  patched  up 
peace,  another  hasty  messenger  bearing  a  blue  *ker- 
chief  of  death  had  arrived  at  Akshi  whither  the  court 
had  gone  to  celebrate  the  late  king's  obsequies.  Ahmed, 
the  King  of  Samarkand  had  been  seized  with  a  burning 
fever  and  after  six  days  had  departed  from  this  transitory 
world. 

Babar  was  sorry.  His  uncle,  he  said,  had  been  better 
than  most.  A  plain,  honest  Turk  not  favoured  by 
genius,  who  had  never  omitted  the  five  daily  prayers 
except  when  honestly  drunk.  And  that  was  but  seldom, 
seeing  that  when  he  did  take  to  drinking  wine,  he  drank 
without  intermission  for  a  month  or  six  weeks  at  a 
stretch  and  thereinafter  would  be  sober  for  a  consider- 
able time.     So  there  had  always  been  periods  for  piety. 

The  womenkind  wept,  of  course,  for  blood  feuds  en- 
hanced blood  relationships  when  Death  the  peace  bringer 
stepped  in  between  the  combatants.     Besides,  mourning 

26 


KING-ERRANT  27 

was  already  afoot ;  so  they  could  kill  two  birds  with  one 
stone.  Even  Fatima  Begum,  the  late  King's  first  wife, 
who,  losing  her  premier  position  through  childlessness 
had  retreated  in  a  huff  to  a  separate  establishment,  joined 
in  the  chorus  of  wailing.  And  she  brought  her  belated 
son  Jahangir  —  nigh  three  years  younger  than  Babar  — 
to  take  his  rightful  place  in  the  palace;  much  to  old  Isan- 
daulet's  indignation. 

"  Set  her  up,  indeed,"  she  said  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
"her  and  her  belated  brat.  Mark  my  words,  had  the 
child  been  lawful,  'twould  have  come  betimes.  But 
when  'tis  hoighty-toighty  and  a  separate  house,  only  God 
knows  to  what  an  honest  man  may  be  made  father." 

Still  the  function  was  a  function,  and  the  ladies  en- 
joyed all  the  ceremonies ;  for  they  were  simple  folk,  con- 
tent with  little,  and  that  little  rough  and  rude,  for  all  they 
were  Queens  and  Princesses. 

Babar,  however,  wearied  of  all  save  the  giving  of 
victuals  to  the  poor.  He  loved  to  see  joy  at  a  portion 
of  pillaii  and  butter  cakes.  Indeed  he  surreptitiously  or- 
dered more  sugar  for  the  children's  thick  milk.  It  made 
him  feel  hungry,  he  said,  to  see  them  eat  it.  And  there 
was  no  better  enjoyment  in  the  world  than  real  hunger; 
provided  always  that  food  was  in  prospect.  For  he  was 
tender-hearted  over  frail  humanity.  He  could  not  see, 
for  instance,  why  the  Black-eyed  Princess,  his  father's 
last  and  low-born  wife  who  was,  of  course,  quite  be- 
yond the  circle  of  distinction,  should  not  be  allowed,  if 
it  pleased  her,  to  discover  a  roundabout  relationship  to 
the  family  of  Timur.  It  did  not  alter  facts.  But  Isan- 
daulet  sniffed. 

"  'Twill  not  alter  her  manners  or  her  speech  anyhow ; 
though  'tis  true  in  a  way.  We  be  all  descended  from 
Adam,  as  I  tell  her  morn,  noon,  and  night." 

So  Babar  had  to  listen  to  the  Black-eyed  one's  wails; 


28  KING-ERRANT 

which  he  did  in  kindly  kingly  fashion,  for  he  Hked  the 
good-natured,  stupid,  pretty  creature.  He  had,  however, 
other  things  to  think  of.  His  Uncle  Ahmed's  death  had 
vaguely  disturbed  him;  for  Uncle  Ahmed  left  no  male 
heirs ;  and  the  question  of  succession  was  a  burning  one, 
since,  by  all  the  laws  of  Moghulistan,  Babar  had  a  double 
claim  to  the  throne  through  his  maternal  grandfather 
Yunus  Khan. 

"  Of  a  surety,"  he  said  to  Dearest-One  who  was  ever 
confidante  of  his  ambitions  and  innermost  thoughts, 
"there  is  no  doubt  that,  now,  Uncle  Mahmud,  as  brother, 
succeeds  of  right.  But  at  his  death?  Cousin  Masaud 
and  Cousin  Baisanghar  are  not  so  close  to  Yunus  Khan 
as  I.  Then  Masaud  is  a  nincompoop,  and  Baisang- 
har — ''  he  paused. 

"Well!  what  of  Cousin  Baisanghar?"  asked  the  girl 
hotly. 

Babar  whittled  away  with  his  knife  at  the  arrow  he  was 
making  —  for  he  was  ever  useful  with  his  hands  —  ere 
he  replied  slowly: 

"  Baisanghar  will  never  make  a  king.  Wherefore  I 
know  not ;  but  there  it  is.     He  is  not  fit  for  it." 

Dearest-One  was  aflame  in  a  second.  "  Not  fit  for 
it?"  she  echoed.  "That  is  not  true.  He  is  as  fit  for  it 
really  as  —  as  thou  art,  brother.  Only  he  will  belittle 
himself!  He  will  talk  of  himself  as  a  shadow  —  an  un- 
substantial shadow!  It  is  not  true,  it  is  not  right,  it  is 
not  fair,  and  so  I  told  him  the  other  night." 

Babar  put  down  his  knife  and  stared. 

"  Thou  didst  tell  him  so  —  but  when  ?  '' 

Dearest-One  hung  her  head,  though  a  faint  smile 
showed  on  her  face.  She  had  given  herself  away;  but 
she  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  her  brother.  Many 
youngsters  of  his  age  might,  from  their  own  experiences 
in  love  affairs,  have  been  seriously  disturbed  at  the  idea 


KING-ERRANT  29 

of  their  sister  speaking  to  a  young  man  on  a  dark  stair; 
but  Babar  was  an  innocent  child.  To  him  it  would  be 
but  a  slight  breach  of  decorum.  Yet  something  made 
her  breath  short  as  she  replied  coolly : 

'*  I  met  him  on  the  stairs.  It  was  dark,  so  he  could 
not  see  me,  brother ;  and  I  spoke  to  him  as  —  as  a  mother 
to  her  son."  The  head  went  down  a  little  more  over 
the  last  words ;  true  as  they  were  in  one  sense,  she  knew 
better  in  her  heart-of-hearts. 

"  And  he  —  what  said  he  ?  "  asked  Babar  alertly,  tak- 
ing his  sister  completely  by  surprise.  With  the  memory 
of  that  cry  '*  Beloved !  beloved ! ''  in  her  mind  —  it  had 
lingered  there  day  and  night  —  she  faltered. 

"  Dearest-One !  "  said  the  boy,  grave,  open-eyed,  after 
a  pause,  "  did  he  kiss  thee  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  up  indignantly,  a  dark  flush  under 
her  wheat-coloured  skin.  "  Kiss  me  ?  "  she  echoed  — . 
''  he  did  not  even  really  touch  me  —  " 

And  then,  suddenly,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
burst  into  tears.  True  —  he  had  not  touched  her  —  he 
had  shrunk  from  her  eager  body.     Why?  oh,  why?  — 

Babar  was  full  of  concern.  He  laid  down  his  knife 
and  arrow,  and  went  over  to  his  sister.  "  Then  there  is 
nothing  to  weep  about,  see  you,"  he  said  stoutly,  "  save 
lack  of  manners,  and  for  that  thou  art  sorry.  Is  it  not 
so,  dearest  ?  " 

The  girl's  sobs  changed  to  a  half -hysterical  giggle. 
"  So  sorry  — "  she  assented,  "  and  thou  wilt  not  tell 
Grandmother  —  " 

"  The  prophet  forbid !  "  cried  her  brother  aghast ;  "  I 
should  never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

And  Dearest-One's  tears  changed  to  real  laughter. 

"  Brother,"  she  cried,  "  thou  art  the  dearest  darling  of 
all!     I  would  do  aught  in  the  whole  world  for  thee." 

"  Nay,"  replied  Babar  gravely,  "  that  will  I  never  ask 


30  KING-ERRANT 

of  thee.  My  womenkind  shall  have  no  task  to  do  that 
my  hands  cannot  compass  alone." 

He  felt  virtuous  as  he  spoke;  rather  uplifted,  too,  by 
that  same  virtue.  He  did  not  know  what  Fate  held  in 
store  for  him.  He  did  not  dream  that  he  would  have  to 
ask  of  her  the  greatest  sacrifice  a  woman  can  make,  and 
that  she  would  make  it  willingly. 

Meanwhile  it  was  gorgeous  summer  tide,  and  Hussan 
played  forward  in  the  King's  game  of  polo,  down  in  the 
river  meadows.  He  was  the  best  of  forwards;  the  best 
of  men  consequently  to  the  boy-King. 

"  Thou  art  a  young  fool,  child ! "  said  old  Isan-daulet 
who  never  minced  her  words,  "  as  thou  wilt  surely  find 
out  ere  long  unless  God  made  thee  stupid  blind.  Luckily 
mine  eyes  are  open ;  so  go  thy  way  and  knock  balls  about 
after  the  manner  of  men." 

Thus  it  was  early  autumn  ere  Babar's  eyes  opened; 
but  then  what  he  saw  made  his  young  blood  surge 
through  him  from  head  to  foot.  The  meanness,  the  de- 
ceit of  it !  To  conspire  with  the  ambassador  from  wicked 
Uncle  Mahmud  at  Samarkand  who  had  come  ostensibly 
to  present  an  oflfering  of  silver  almonds  and  golden  pis- 
tachio nuts,  to  depose  him,  Babar,  and  put  "  the  brat " 
Jahangir  on  the  throne.  And  all  the  while  to  be  playing 
forward  in  the  King's  game !  It  was  too  much !  It  was 
not  fair !     It  was  emphatically  not  the  game ! 

"  Throw  away  bad  butter  while  it's  melted,"  said 
Isan-daulet  firmly ;  "  Send  Kasim-Beg  and  other  trust- 
worthy friends  to  strangle  him  with  a  bow  string! 
Then  wilt  thou  be  quit  of  such  devils'  spawn." 

But  Babar  was  a  sportsman.  Even  if  it  came  to  kill- 
ing the  forward  in  the  King's  game,  he  was  not  going 
to  do  it  underhand.  So  he  looked  round  the  assembly 
of  loyalists  who  had  met  to  convince  him  in  his  grand- 
mother's apartments  in  the  stone  fort,  and  said  briefly: 


KING-ERRANT  31 

"  To  horse,  gentlemen !  I  go  to  dismiss  my  Prime-min- 
ister from  his  appointment." 

But  that  gentleman  had  already  dismissed  himself. 
When  they  arrived  at  the  citadel,  they  found  he  had  gone 
hunting;  and  from  that  expedition  he  never  returned. 
Someone  must  have  blabbed;  for  he  had  posted  off  to 
Samarkand,  rather  to  the  boy-King's  relief.  It  would 
have  been  a  terrible  thing  to  imprison  or  blind  the  best 
forward  in  the  kingdom. 

And  even  when  news  came  that  the  offender  had 
paused  by  the  way  to  make  an  attack  on  Akshi,  and  in 
the  consequent  melee,  having  been  wounded  in  the  hinder 
parts  by  an  arrow  from  his  own  men,  had  been  unable 
to  escape  and  so  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  loyalists  the 
boy-King  was  glad  that  Providence  had  taken  judgment 
from  his  hands.  Hussan  had  but  himself  to  thank.  As 
the  poet  said : 

"Who  does  an  evil  deed 
But  sows  the  seed 
Of  his  own  meed." 

This  was  finely  philosophic ;  but  it  did  not  quite  comfort 
the  philosopher.  The  first  actual  experience  of  ingrati- 
tude and  disloyalty  made  its  mark  upon  him  and  sobered 
him.  He  began  to  abstain  from  forbidden  and  dubious 
meats  and  but  seldom  omitted  his  midnight  prayers. 

Mercifully,  however,  the  season  for  polo  was  past,  and 
Nevian  Gokultash  was  almost  as  good  at  leap-frog  as  the 
deceased  statesman.  Nevian  Gokultash,  who,  as  foster 
brother,  was  above  the  possibility  of  suspicion. 

"  Truly,"  said  Babar  one  evening,  throwing  his  arm 
round  his  playmate's  neck  affectionately,  "  rightly  are 
thy  kind  named  Gokultash  — *  heart  of  stone.'  Thy  love 
is  founded  on  rock,  whereas  my  brother  by  blood  — " 
he  broke  off  impatiently  —  "  but  there !  'tis  not  his  fault 


32  KING-ERRANT 

—  he  is  so  young  —  two  whole  years  younger  than  I. 

Despite  the  good-natured  excuse  which  in  all  his 
chequered  life,  ever  came  easily  to  Babar's  kindly  na- 
ture, he  felt  the  first  chill  of  the  cold  world  at  his  heart. 
He  found  to  his  great  irritation  and  annoyance,  that  his 
milieu  was  not  nearly  so  reasonable  as  he  was  himself. 
It  was  the  irritation  and  the  annoyance  which  besets 
capability  and  vitality.  Other  folk  had  not  nearly  such 
good  memories,  were  not  half  so  nimble-minded,  or 
straight-forward,  as  he  expected. 

When,  for  instance,  he  sent  an  envoy  to  a  rebellious 
chief,  in  order  to  remonstrate  with  him,  before  proceed- 
ing to  arms,  the  wrong-headed  man,  instead  of  return- 
ing a  suitable  answer,  ordered  the  ambassador  to  be  put 
to  death. 

Such,  however,  not  being  in  the  pleasures  of  God,  the 
envoy  managed  to  escape,  and  after  having  endured  a 
thousand  distresses  and  hardships,  arrived  naked  and  on 
foot,  to  pour  the  tale  of  his  wrongs  into  Babar's  indig- 
nant ears.  Urged  by  wrath  at  such  ill-manners,  the 
boy-King  proposed  instant  reprisals,  and  set  off;  but 
a  heavy  fall  of  snow  on  the  encircling  hills  and  a  slight 
sprinkling  on  the  clover  meadows  warned  him  that 
winter  was  approaching,  and  his  nobles  added  their 
opinion,  that  it  was  no  time  in  which  to  commence  a 
campaign. 

So  he  returned  to  Andijan  and  to  a  boy's  life  of  study 
and  sport.  The  saintly  Kazi  was  his  tutor,  and  kept  the 
boy  to  his  Al-jabr  (algebra)  and  Arabic,  and  abstruse 
dialectic  dissertations  on  the  nature  of  the  Kosmos. 
There  were  not  many  books  to  be  read  in  Andijan,  but 
Babar  knew  them  all.  He  had  the  Epic  of  Kings 
almost  by  heart,  and  used  to  regret  there  were  not  more 
details  about  the  great  Jamsheed  with  his  wonderful 
divining  cup;  Jamsheed  who  reigned  with  might,  whom 


KING-ERRANT  83 

the  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fairies,  and  demons  obeyed; 
Jamsheed  of  whom  it  was  written  *'and  the  world  was 
happier  for  his  sake  and  he  too  was  glad."  That  was 
something  like  a  King! 

And  Babar  learnt  also,  in  a  rude,  unrefined  way,  all 
the  accomplishments  of  a  Turkhi  nobleman.  He  could 
strum  on  the  lute,  bawl  a  song  fairly,  and  play  with 
singlestick  to  admiration.  The  latter  was  Kasim's  care ; 
Kasim  who  was  the  best  swordsman  in  the  kingdom  and 
who  used  to  quarrel  with  the  Kazi  as  to  whether  the 
young  student's  strongest  point  was  fencing,  or  the  fine 
nastalik  hand-writing  in  which  Babar  excelled. 

As  for  sport,  the  snow  falling  early  brought  the  deer 
down  to  the  valleys;  and  the  undulating  country  about 
Andijan  was  always  full  of  wild  fowl,  while  pheasants 
by  the  score  were  to  be  shot  in  the  skirts  of  the  moun- 
tains. 

The  boy  was  growing  fast  and  in  his  lambskin  coat 
worn  with  the  fleece  inside,  the  soft  tanned  shammy 
leather  without  all  encrusted  by  gold-silk  embroidery  to 
a  supple  strength  that  kept  out  both  cold  and  sabre  cuts, 
he  looked  quite  a  young  man;  and  his  high  peaked  cap 
of  black  astrachan  to  match  the  edgings  of  his  coat  and 
bound  with  crimson  velvet  suited  his  bright  animated 
face. 

Dearest-One  admired  him  hugely. 

"  I  would  the  court  painter  were  not  a  fool,"  she  said 
regretfully  as  he  came  in  one  day  from  the  chase  and 
held  up  for  her  inspection  a  cock  minawul  pheasant  all 
resplendent  in  its  winter  plumage.  "  But  he  cannot  see. 
When  he  paints  thee  he  makes  thee  all  as  one  with  Ti- 
mur  Shah  and  Ghengis  Khan  —  on  whom  be  peace  — 
but  I  want  thee!* 

In  truth  it  needed  a  better  artist  than  Andijan  held  to 
do  justice  to  the  fire  which  always  leapt  to  the  boy's  face 


34  KING-ERRANT 

when  beauty  such  as  the  iridescent  bird's  struck  a  spark 
from  his  imagination  and  made  the  whole  world  blaze 
into  sudden  splendour. 

"  Baisanghar  might  do  it  likely,"  replied  Babar 
thoughtlessly ;  "  he  hath  a  quaint  turn  with  his  brush  that 
is  not  as  others ;  and  he  said  he  would  love  to  paint  thy 
portrait  —  "  he  broke  off  suddenly,  aware  that  this  was 
a  subject  which  had  better  not  have  been  introduced. 
But,  indeed,  there  seemed  a  fate  that  he  should  always 
talk  of  Baisanghar  to  his  sister.  Could  it  be  her  fault? 
He  looked  at  her  with  boyish  reproach,  but  the  girl's 
face  was  lit  up  with  smiles  and  dimples. 

"Aye!  he  said  that.  Did  he  say  more  after  I  had 
gone?    Tell  me,  brotherling.'' 

But  he  walked  off  in  dignified  fashion  with  the  cock 
pheasant.  His  sister  thought  too  much  of  Baisanghar. 
And  it  was  time  she  married. 

He  talked  to  his  mother  quite  seriously  about  it,  and 
she  met  his  anxiety  by  the  calm  remark: 

"Why  should  she  not  marry  Baisanghar?" 

Why  not,  indeed,  now  he  came  to  think  of  it.  Some- 
how it  had  not  occurred  to  him  before.  But  when  he 
suggested  it  to  his  sister  she  met  him  with  a  storm  of 
tears.  She  was  never  going  to  marry.  She  was  going 
to  be  a  sainted  canoness  and  pray  for  her  brother.  Why 
could  he  not  leave  her  alone ;  and  Cousin  Baisanghar  also, 
who  apparently  was  of  the  same  mind,  since,  though  he 
was  nigh  nineteen,  he  had  never  taken  a  wife.  And,  if  it 
came  to  weddings,  was  it  not  high  time  that  he,  Babar, 
King  of  Ferghana,  bethought  himself  of  bringing  his 
betrothed  home?  That  would  procure  festivities  enow, 
if  that  was  what  he  was  wanting. 

From  which  deft  shaft  in  the  enemy's  camp,  Babar  fled 
precipitately.  The  very  idea  irked  him;  he  had  no  time 
for  such  nonsense.     In  fact  he  wearied  even  of  the  three 


KING-ERRANT  36 

loving  women  who  insisted  upon  consulting  him  by  day 
and  by  night. 

But  ere  the  winter  was  over  yet  another  messenger  of 
death  arrived,  and  this  one  made  the  boy-King  feel  like 
a  caged  young  eagle  longing  for  his  first  flight. 

Wicked  Uncle  Mahmud  after  disgusting  Samarkand 
for  six  months  with  his  unbridled  licentiousness  and 
tyranny,  until  great  and  small,  rich  and  poor,  lifted  up 
their  heads  to  heaven  in  supplications  for  redress,  and 
burst  out  into  curses  and  imprecations  on  the  Mirza's 
head,  had,  by  the  judgment  that  attends  on  such  crime, 
tyranny,  and  wickedness,  died  miserably  after  an  illness 
of  six  days. 

The  women  wept,  of  course,  though  old  Isan-daulet's 
tears  were  considerably  tempered  by  smiles  at  her  own 
prophetic  powers.  Had  she  not  said  that  both  the  men 
who  dared  to  attack  the  apple  of  her  eye,  young  Babar, 
would  suffer?    And  so  they  had.     And  now     .     .     . 

The  old  lips  pursed  themselves  and  were  silent.  But 
the  old  thoughts  were  busy.  Her  grandson  was,  may- 
hap, over  young  to  try  his  luck  this  year,  yet  for  all  that 
he  was  the  rightful  heir  to  the  throne  of  Samarkand. 
In  this  way :  Father  Yunus  Khan,  Suzerain  of  all  Mo- 
ghulistan,  had  been  suzerain  also  of  Samarkand.  None 
questioned  that.  Had  not  the  triple  marriage  of  Yunus 
Khan's  three  daughters  with  the  King  of  Samarkand's 
three  sons  been  arranged  especially  in  order  to  put  an 
end  to  the  Khan  of  Moghulistan's  undoubted  claim,  by 
joining  the  two  families?  Well,  one  of  those  marriages 
had  produced  no  son.  Mahmud  who  had  married  the 
younger  daughter,  had  but  one  son  by  her,  a  perfect 
child.  But  Babar,  son  of  the  eldest  sister,  was  adoles- 
cent; therefore,  by  every  right,  every  claim,  he  was  the 
heir. 

But  she  was  a  wise  old  woman.    There  was  no  use 


36  KING-ERRANT 

being  in  a  hurry.  Samarkand  might  as  well  seethe  in 
its  own  sedition  for  awhile.  By  all  accounts  the 
Turkhans  were  up  in  arms;  and  the  Turkhans  were 
ticklish  folk  to  deal  with.  Then  Khosrau  Shah,  the 
late  King's  prime-minister  was  an  able  man  and  might 
be  trusted  to  fight  for  what  he  wanted.  The  time  for 
intervention  would  be  when  the  combatants  had  weakened 
each  other. 

And  the  shrewd  old  woman  once  more  proved  herself 
right.  For  Khosrau  Shah,  having  plumped  for  the 
nincompoop  Masaud  —  doubtless  because  he  knew  that 
with  a  nonentity  on  the  throne,  his  power  would  be  abso- 
lute—  the  Turkhans  declared  for  Baisanghar,  sent  for 
him  express,  and  having  driven  out  Khosrau,  who  had  at- 
tempted to  conceal  his  master's  death  until  his  plans  were 
completed,  placed  the  former  on  the  throne. 

And  here  another  factor  came  in  to  the  wary  old 
woman's  mind.  What  if  her  granddaughter  were  to 
marry  Baisanghar?  Babar  could  lay  claim  to  other 
kingdoms  when  he  was  fit  to  fight  for  them,  and  thus 
there  would  be  a  down-sitting  for  both  her  daughter's 
children.  So,  most  of  the  affairs  of  importance  at  An- 
dijan  being  conducted  by  her  advice,  Kasim's  swash- 
buckler instincts  were  held  in  check  for  the  time. 
Something  however  must  be  done  to  occupy  the  lad 
meanwhile ;  and  the  news  that  his  uncle  by  marriage  and 
cousin  by  descent,  Hussain,  King  of  Khorasan,  medi- 
tated an  expedition  against  Hissar,  the  neighbouring 
province,  prompted  the  suggestion  that  the  boy-King 
should  take  advantage  of  proximity  to  pay  his  respects 
and  make  acquaintance  with  the  premier  prince  of  the 
age. 

Babar's  imagination  was  aflame  in  an  instant.  Tales 
of  the  splendid  court  at  Herat  were  broadcast  in 
Asia.     Folk  said  they  had  even  spread  to  Europe  —  that 


KING-ERRANT  87 

dim  unknown  horizon  to  which  the  boy's  thoughts  often 
reverted.  And  Sultan  Hussain  was  as  his  father  and  his 
elder  brother.  It  was  always  wise  to  make  the  personal 
acquaintance  of  such;  it  dispelled  misunderstanding  on 
their  part,  and  gained  for  yourself  a  nearer  and  better 
idea  of  their  strength  and  weakness. 

So  one  day  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  with  stout 
Kasim  wrapped  to  the  eyes  in  furs  and  a  hundred-and- 
a-half  or  so  of  hardy  troopers  equipped  for  a  mountain 
march,  Babar  started  for  the  low  passes  by  the  White 
Hills  to  the  valley  of  the  Oxus  river. 

"  Have  a  care  of  thy  soul,  my  son,"  said  the  saintly 
Kwaja,  "  and  remember  what  the  poet  sings : 

"  The  soul  is  the  only  thing  to  prize ; 
Heed  not  the  body:  it  is  not  wise. 
The  wiles  of  the  Devil  are  millionfold, 
And  every  spell  is  a  fetter  to  hold. 
Thou  hast  five  robbers  to  keep  at  bay. 
Hearing  and  sight,  touch,  taste  and  smell. 
So  chain  them  up  and  govern  them  well. 
Some  things  are  real  and  some  but  seem; 
The  mundane  things  of  the  world  are  a  dream." 

But  Isan-daulet  sniffed.  "  So  be  it  that  he  keep  the 
institutes  of  Ghengis  Khan  as  his  forebears  did,  he  will 
do.  They  be  enough  for  a  brave  man,  and  death  or  the 
bastinado  sufficient  punishment." 

The  Kwaja  looked  grave.  "  Yet  be  they  not  the  law 
of  Islam,  sister ;  and  we,  of  the  faith,  are  not  heathens." 

"  Heathen  or  no !  "  retorted  the  old  lady,  "  my  grand- 
son will  do  well  if  he  touch  Ghengis  Khan's  height." 
And  she  sniffed  again. 

Perhaps  her  words  put  it  into  the  boy's  head,  but  in  this, 
his  first  flight  beyond  his  hill-clipped  kingdom  his  thoughts 
were  with  his  great  ancestors.     He  rather  swaggered  it 


38  KING-ERRANT 

in  [consequence  round  the  camp  fires  at  night,  and  was 
overbold  in  the  chase;  so  that  more  than  once  on  the 
higher  hills  Nevian-Gokultash  had  to  pick  him  out  of  a 
snow-drift.  But  his  dignity  was  always  equal  to  the  oc- 
casion, and  when  at  last  Sultan  Hussain  Mirza's  camp 
showed  in  ordered  array  on  the  low  ground  beyond  the 
passes,  he  took  it  as  if  he  were  quite  accustomed  to  see 
the  large  pavilions,  the  rows  on  rows  of  orderly  tents, 
the  laagers  of  chained  carts. 

He  held  his  head  very  high  too,  as  he  rode  down  the 
central  alley,  his  pennant  carried  before  him  by  two 
jostling  troopers.  The  smart  soldiers,  lavish  of  buckles 
and  broideries,  who  lounged  about,  smiled  at  the  un- 
couth troop;  but  each  and  all  had  a  need  of  praise  for 
the  boyish  leader  who  sat  his  horse  like  a  centaur  and 
whose  bright  eyes  seemed  everywhere. 

"  He  is  a  gay  enough  young  cockerel,"  admitted  a 
scented  noble  with  a  smile.  "  Let  us  see  if  his  uncle  will 
make  him  fight." 

But  even  if  Babar  had  been  more  pugnacious  than  he 
was,  sheer  astonishment  at  his  first  interview  would  have 
kept  him  quiescent.  Even  Kasim-Beg,  stickler  as  he 
was  for  etiquette,  gave  up  the  hopeless  attempt  at  cere- 
monial. 

"  Thou  art  welcome,  nephew,"  said  the  old  man  whose 
long  white  beard  contrasted  with  his  gay-coloured,  ju- 
venile garments,  that  better  matched  the  vivacity  of  the 
straight  narrow  eyes.  The  black  astrachan  cap  perched 
on  the  reverend  head,  however,  suited  neither.  "  Sit 
ye  down,  boy,  and  watch  my  butting  rams!  Yonder  is 
the  Earth  Trembler  —  peace  be  on  my  ancestor's  grave 
.  .  .  and  this  is  the  Barbarian  Ghengis  —  no  offence 
meant  to  thine,  young  Chagatai !  Three  tumans  of  gold, 
Muzaffar,  he  smashes  the  other's  horn  first  butt !  " 

The  man  he  addressed,  who  had  been,  Heaven  knows 


KING-ERRANT  39 

why,  prime  favourite  for  years,  and  showed  his  position 
by  the  most  arrogant  of  airs,  turned  to  his  neighbour. 
"  Not  I ;  a  certainty  is  no  bet  for  me,  though  by  our  com- 
pact. Excellence,  I  would  get  my  fair  share  of  two-thirds 
back,  if  you  won !  But  Berunduk  Birlas  here,  having  lost 
his  best  hawk  after  bustard  to-day,  is  in  a  mood  for  tears, 
and  would  like  to  lose  gold  also." 

Berunduk  Birlas,  the  ablest  man  at  the  court,  shook 
his  head  sadly.  "  Of  a  truth,  friend,  my  loss  is  great 
enough  to  content  me.  Had  my  sons  died  or  broken 
their  necks  I  could  not  grieve  more  than  for  my  true 
falcon- jinny  Brighteyes!  No  man  could  desire  a  more 
captivating  beauty." 

Sultan  Hussain  wxnt  off  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 
"  Li !  where  is  Ali-Shir  ?  Where  is  our  poet  ?  Bright- 
eyes  the  captivating  beauty  who  patches  hairs,  eh? 
There  is  a  subject  for  word-play.  Out  with  a  ghazel  on 
the  spot,  friend  Ali." 

A  thin,  elegant-looking  man  with  a  pale,  refined  face, 
got  up  and  made  a  perfect  salute.  From  head  to  foot 
he  was  exquisite,  the  Beau  Brummel  of  his  age. 

"  Look,"  nudged  one  young  courtier  to  another  envi- 
ously, "  he  hath  a  new  knot  to  his  kerchief.  How,  in 
God's  name,  think  you,  is  it  tied  ?  " 

The  incomparable  person  paused  for  one  second  only ; 
then  in  the  most  polished  of  voices  he  poured  out  a 
lengthy  ode,  deftly  ringing  the  changes  on  the  word 
"has"  (falcon)  which  in  Persian  has  at  least  a  dozen 
different  meanings. 

A  ripple  of  laughter  followed  his  somewhat  forced 
allusions,  and  he  sat  down  again  amid  a  chorus  of  ap- 
plause. 

Babar  stood  dum-foundered,  yet  in  every  fibre  of  his 
body  sympathetic.  Here  was  something  new  indeed! 
A  new  world  very  different  from  the  rough  and  tumble 


40  KING-ERRANT 

clash  of  arms  and  swords  and  polo  sticks  at  Andijan; 
but  a  world  where,  mayhap,  he  might  hold  his  own. 

"  Well  done !  Well  done ! ''  he  cried  with  the  rest,  and 
his  uncle  the  Sultan  nodded  approval  at  the  lad. 

"  Sit  ye  down,  sit  ye  down ! "  he  said ;  "  and,  cup- 
bearer! a  beaker  of  Shiraz  wine  for  the  King  of  Fer- 
ghana ! " 

For  the  life  of  him  the  boy  could  not  refrain  from  one 
swift  look  at  Kasim's  face,  Kasim  who  was  all  shocked 
propriety  at  such  a  violation  of  the  rules  both  of  Islam 
and  Ghengis  Khan;  but  after  that  one  scared  glance 
dignity  came  back. 

"  Your  Highness ! "  he  said,  with  pomp,  waving  his 
hand  towards  one  of  the  butting  rams,  *'  like  my  ances- 
tor the  Barbarian  I  drink  water  only." 

A  smile  went  round  the  assembly  and  young  Babar 
felt  a  glow  of  pride  that  he  had  not  fallen  so  far  short 
in  wit.  Thereinafter  he  sat  and  listened  with  wide  eyes. 
His  uncle  was  certainly  a  lively,  pleasant  man;  but  his 
temper  was  a  bit  hasty  and  so  were  his  words.  Still, 
despite  that  and  overfreedom  with  the  wine  cup,  he  evi- 
dently had  a  profound  reverence  for  the  faith,  since  at 
the  proper  hour  he  put  on  a  small  turban  tied  in  three 
folds,  broad  and  showy,  and,  having  placed  a  plume  on 
it,  went  in  this  style  to  prayers ! 

That  night  when  Kasim  was  snoring  in  the  tent  and 
the  hundred-and-a-half  or  thereabouts  of  his  followers 
were  slumbering  peacefully,  full  up  of  kid  pullao,  Babar 
lay  awake.  He  was  composing  an  ode  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life.  It  was  a  sorry  composition  of  no  value  ex- 
cept that  it  filled  him  with  desire  to  do  better. 


CHAPTER  IV 

In  this  world*s  inn,  where  sweetest  song  abounds 
There   is  no   prelude   to  one   song  that   sounds; 
The  guests  have  quaffed  their  wine  and  passed  away 
Their  cups  were  empty  and  they  would  not  stay. 
No  sage,  no  stripling,  not  a  hand  but  thine 
Has  held  this  goblet  of  poetic  wine; 
Rise,  then,  and  sing!    Thy  fear  behind  thee  cast 
And,  be  it  clear  or  dull,  bring  forth  the  wine  thou  hast. 

Jami. 

Babar  could  not  tear  himself  away  from  his  uncle's 
camp.  He  lingered  on  and  on,  watching  the  mili- 
tary operations  with  a  more  or  less  critical  eye,  but  ab- 
sorbing culture  wholesale. 

It  was  a  revelation  to  him,  meeting  men  to  whom 
fighting  was  not  the  end  and  aim  of  life ;  and  these  Begs 
and  nobles  of  his  uncle's  court,  though  they  were  all 
supposed  to  be  engaged  in  warfare  with  Khosrau  Shah 
who  was  holding  Hissar  over  the  river,  for  his  nominee 
the  nincompoop,  had  yet  time  for  other  things. 

Ali-Shir,  for  instance,  was  wise  beyond  belief  in  all 
ways.  Incomparable  man!  So  kind,  so  courteous. 
Babar  profited  by  his  guidance  and  encouragement  in  his 
efforts  to  civilise  himself.  Thus  becoming  —  since  there 
is  not  in  history  any  man  who  was  greater  patron  of 
talent  than  Ali-Shir  —  one  of  that  great  company  of 
poets,  painters,  professors,  and  musicians  who  owe  every- 
thing to  him,  who,  passing  through  this  world  single  and 
unencumbered  by  wife  or  child,  gave  himself  and  his 
time  up  to  the  instruction  of  others. 

So  far,  therefore,  as  the  clash  of  intellect  went,  young 
Babar  was  satisfied.     In  regard  to  the  clash  of  arms  it 

41 


42  KING-ERRANT 

was  different.  How  such  a  mighty  body  of  Mirzas, 
Begs,  and  chiefs,  who,  with  their  followers,  if  they  were 
not  double  the  number  of  the  enemy  over  the  water  were 
at  least  one-and-a-half  times  that  number,  could  content 
themselves  with  practical  inaction  passed  his  under- 
standing. 

When,  too,  they  had  such  battering  rams  and  catapults 
as  positively  made  his  mouth  water !  There  was  one  of 
the  latter  which  threw  such  a  quantity  of  stones  and  with 
such  accuracy  that  in  half  an  hour  —  just  before  bed- 
time prayers  —  the  enemy's  fort  was  beautifully  breached. 
But  the  night  being  deemed  rather  dark  for  assault  and 
the  troops  preferring  the  safety  and  comfort  of  their 
trenches,  no  immediate  attack  was  made;  the  result  be- 
ing that  before  morning  the  breach  was  repaired. 

There  was  absolutely  no  real  fine  fighting,  and  at 
this  rate  his  uncle,  the  Sultan,  would  doubtless  spend 
the  whole  winter  on  the  banks  of  the  Amu  river,  and 
when  spring  came,  patch  up  some  sort  of  a  peace  from 
fear  of  the  floods  which  always  came  down  with  the 
melting  snow. 

"  That  is  his  way,"  asserted  Kasim  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders.  **  He  leads  his  army  forth  wuth  pomp  and 
state,  and  in  himself  is  no  mean  general;  but  ever  it 
comes  to  naught.  It  is  so,  always,  when  folk  take  to 
rhyming  couplets,  and  putting  spices  to  their  food.  Give 
me  orders  that  hang  together,  and  plain  roast  venison." 

But  all  the  while  the  honest  man  was  stuffing  his 
mouth  full  of  lamb  and  pistachio  nuts,  and  Babar  smiled. 
Still  he  felt  that,  so  far  as  the  art  of  war  went,  he  might 
go  back  to  little  Andijan  without  fear  of  leaving  behind 
him  any  knowledge  worth  the  learning.  It  was 
otherwise  with  the  culture,  and  he  flung  himself  with 
characteristic  vitality  into  music  lessons,  and  dancing 
lessons,  elocution  lessons  and  deportment  lessons,  until 


KING-ERRANT  43 

as  he  entered  the  court  audience  no  one  could  have  told 
that  but  a  few  weeks  before,  he  had  been  as  rough  and 
as  uncouth  as  old  Kasim,  who  stoutly  refused  veneer. 

*'  What  I  am,  God  made  me,"  he  would  say,  *'  and  if 
folk  like  it  not  let  them  leave.     I  budge  not." 

To  which  uncompromising  independence,  one  pair  of 
hands  —  delicate,  long-fingered,  ivory  hands  —  gave  flut- 
tering applause.  They  belonged  to  a  young  man  who, 
almost  at  first  sight,  impressed  young  Babar  more  than 
anyone  he  had  seen  in  all  his  life.  He  was  a  helpless 
cripple  who  yet  took  his  part  in  life  like  any  other  man. 
Every  evening  his  spangled  litter  would  be  brought  into 
the  big  audience  tent  and  set  down  just  below  the  King's. 
For  Mirza  Gharib-Beg  (who  styled  himself  Poverty- 
prince  in  allusion  to  the  meaning  of  his  name  —  poor) 
was  the  King's  son  by  a  low-born  woman  who  had  been 
passionately  loved.  So,  despite  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
born  misshapen,  ugly,  and  that  ill-health  had  always  been 
his,  Poverty-prince  still  had  a  hold  on  his  father's  aflfec- 
tion.  And  no  wonder;  since,  though  his  form  was  not 
prepossessing  he  had  a  fine  genius,  and  though  his  con- 
stitution was  feeble,  he  had  a  powerful  mind.  There 
was  nothing,  it  seemed  to  Babar,  that  he  could  not  do. 
He  could  rhyme  with  Ali-Shir,  play  the  guitar  with  Ab- 
dulla-Marwarid  and  paint  with  Bahzad.  What  is  more, 
he  could  talk  mysticism  far  better  than  Kamal-ud-din, 
with  his  wagging  black  beard,  who  pretended  to  rap- 
tures and  ecstasies  and  had  written  a  portentously  dull 
book  about  Sufism  which  he  called  "  The  Assembly  of 
Lovers"  —  portentously  dull  and  also  profane  —  which 
was  inexcusable. 

But  when  Poverty-prince  spoke  of  roses  and  night- 
ingales and  even  of  the  red  wine  cup,  he  took  you  into 
another  world;  and  he  evidently  believed  what  he  said, 
whereas  Kamal-ud-din  was  all  pose. 


44  KING-ERRANT 

Yet  the  next  instant  the  thin  ugly  face  would  show- 
almost  impish  in  its  amusement  and  its  owner  would 
burst  out  with  some  sally  that  would  set  them  all 
a-laughing;  and  him  a-coughing  for  the  change  of  air 
which  was  to  have  done  him  good  was  doing  him  harm ; 
though  he  would  not  admit  it. 

"  Wherefore  should  I  ? "  he  laughed  gaily  in  some 
anxious  face.  "A  man  is  as  ill  as  he  thinks  himself  — 
he  is  all  things  that  he  believes  himself  to  be.  So  I  am 
strong,  and  well,  and  young,  and  deeply  enamoured  of  a 
beauteous  lady.  She  is  called  Feramors  —  a  pretty 
name,"  and  he  would  catch  up  a  lute  over  which  his  thin, 
long,  ivory  hands  would  flutter  like  butterflies  and 
sing : 

"  Say !  is  it  Love  or  Death,  O  Feramors ! 
That  hides  behind  thy  bosom's  pearly  doors? 
I  care  not,  so  I  reach  the  heart  within. 
Oh !  let  me  in  ; 
Open  the  closed  doors,  O  Feramors !  " 

Truly  he  was  a  marvellous  person !  To  Babar,  boy 
as  he  was,  the  most  marvellous  thing  in  the  camp.  How 
could  he,  cripple,  suffering,  almost  dying  as  he  was, 
keep  life  at  bay  as  it  were?  How  could  he  sit  so  free 
of  it?  He,  Babar,  with  his  health  and  strength  was  not 
so  independent,  though  he  was  more  so  than  most,  for, 
almost  unconsciously,  he  set  himself  as  free  as  he  could 
from  encumbrance  even  of  thought. 

He  shrank  even  from  so  much  as  came  to  him  from 
Gharib,  and  avoided  his  cousin  in  consequence,  spending 
such  time  as  he  could  spare  from  his  numerous  lessons, 
and  the  watch  Kasim  made  him  keep  on  military  mat- 
ters, in  hunting  amid  the  low  hills. 

But  it  was  no  use.  That  dark,  curiously  be-scented 
tent   wherein   the   cripple  lay  laughing  at  life,   had   a 


KING-ERRANT  45 

strange  attraction  for  him.     He  took  to  dropping  into  it 
on  his  way  elsewhere,  until  old  Kasim  grew  uneasy. 

*'  He  lays  spells  on  you,  my  liege,''  he  protested. 
"  They  tell  me  he  can  do  it  to  all  young  folk  —  so  have 
a  care ! " 

*'  Smear  my  forehead  with  lamp-black  against  the  evil 
eye;  then  shall  I  be  safe,''  laughed  the  boy,  and  yet  in 
his  heart  he  felt  the  spell.  And,  oddly  enough,  he  liked 
it.  He  was  fascinated  by  something  in  this  distant,  far- 
away cousin  of  his ;  so  far-away  that  it  scarcely  seemed 
worth  while  calling  him  cousin.  Yet,  as  grandmother 
Isan-daulet  would  say:  "all  men  were  descended  from 
Adam ! " 

*'  Come  in  on  thy  return  from  the  chase,"  said  Pov- 
erty-prince one  day  when  he  had  looked  in  on  the  scent 
sodden  tent,  a  picture  of  youth  and  strength  and  health, 
in  his  fur  postecn  and  his  high  peaked  cap.  "  And  bring 
thy  bag  with  thee  for  this  lifeless  log  to  see.  What  shall 
it  contain?  Imprimis  —  a  brace  of  chameleon  birds.  I 
love  to  see  their  iridescent  necks  and  the  six  different 
colours  between  head  and  tail  —  mark  you !  how  I  remem- 
ber thy  description,  cousin-ling?" 

Babar  blushed.  "  Thou  said'st  thou  had  never  seen 
them,"  he  began  apologetically. 

"  Save  through  thine  eyes  and  they  are  good  enough 
for  most  folk.  Be  not  ashamed,  coz,  of  the  gift  God 
hath  given  thee.  And  thou  shalt  bring  me  a  fat  deer 
and  some  kalidge  pheasant  —  and,  with  luck,  a  cock 
mindwul.  Then  we  will  look  at  it  with  the  same  eyes  — 
thou  and  I  —  "  A  wistfulness  had  crept  into  his  voice, 
and  he  said  no  more. 

But  the  curious  thing  was  that  the  bag  was  ever  just 
what  Poverty-prince  had  predicted,  neither  more,  nor 
less. 

'*  Thou  art  a  wizard,  for  sure,"  said  Babar  half  seri- 


46  KING-ERRANT 

ously.  "  The  thought  of  thy  words  makes  my  aim  sure 
at  times,  and  at  another  sets  my  bow  arm  a-quiver. 
Wert  thou  to  say  'naught,'  I  should  return  empty- 
handed." 

"  So  be  it,"  laughed  the  cripple.  "  Why  should  we 
kill  God's  pretty  creatures?" 

And  thereinafter  two  whole  hunts  produced  nothing. 
Whether  it  was  a  fresh  fall  of  snow  in  the  hills  that 
brought  ill  luck  Babar  could  not  say,  but  he  looked  at 
his  cousin  with  awe. 

"  Thou  hast  more  power  I  verily  believe,"  he  said, 
"than  the  Dream-man  whom  Uncle  Hussain  keeps  —  " 

"  For  his  amusement,"  put  in  Poverty-prince  with  a 
frown.  "  But  that  is  black  magic ;  mine  is  white.  I  do 
naught.  'Tis  thy  mind  that  answers  — "  he  broke  off 
and  his  large  eyes  —  the  only  unmarred  feature  in  his 
face  —  narrowed  themselves  to  a  piercing  glance. 
**  Wherefore  should  I  not  say  it,  cousin  ?  Has  it  not 
struck  thee,  that  had'st  thou  been  born  crooked  and  not 
straight,  or  had  I  been  born  straight  and  not  crooked, 
we  should  have  been  as  two  twins?  That  is  why  I  like 
thee,  and  thou  Hkest  me." 

The  boy  sat  and  stared  at  him,  almost  incredulously. 
He  could  not  imagine  his  youth  and  strength  pent  up  in 
that  prison  of  a  body;  and  yet     .     .     . 

Yes!  without  doubt  there  was  some  tie.  Else  why 
should  he  feel  so  intimate  —  why  should  he  speak  to 
Poverty-prince  of  things  which  every  decent  young 
Mahomedan  was  taught  to  keep  to  himself;  for  instance 
of  Dearest-One  and  the  possibility  of  her  marrying 
Baisanghar? 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face,  however,  with  shame 
when  he  felt  his  cousin's  hot,  long-fingered,  trembling 
hand  close  on  his  wrist  in  quick  arrest. 

"  Marriage  —  say   not   the   word !    Dost  not   know  ? 


KING-ERRANT  47 

Nay  —  I  forgot  thy  youth  —  and  I  will  not  soil  thine 
ears  with  the  tale.  But  we  in  foul  Herat  know  most 
wickedness,  most  degradations.  And  there  is  that  in 
miserable  Baisanghar's  life  that  bars  marriage  with  any 
woman  worthy  the  name.  Aye !  and  he  knows  it  —  poor 
maimed  soul  enmeshed  for  ever  by  the  wickedness  of  one 
who  should  have  protected  him  —  May  God's  curse  light 
on  him  for  ever.     So  think  not  of  marriage,  cousin.'* 

Babar  shook  off  his  cousin's  clasp  haughtily.  It  was 
not  that  he  resented  having  substance  given  to  his  vague 
doubts  of  Baisanghar  —  it  was  better  to  know  for  sure ; 
but  interference  with  his  womenkind  was  intolerable. 
And  he  had  brought  it  on  himself ! 

"  By  your  leave,"  he  said  with  terrific  dignity,  "  we 
will  speak  no  more  on  such  private  matters.  'Tis  my 
own  fault.  Such  subjects  are  not  meet  for  public  con- 
versations." 

Poverty-prince  lay  back  on  his  cushions  and  kindly 
raillery  took  possession  of  his  face.  "  Not  meet,  sayest 
thou  cousin-Hng?  Yet  are  they  the  best  half  —  nay!  the 
three  quarters  of  life.  Dost  know  that  even  to  me, 
cripple,  marriage  hath  played  the  major  part?  " 

Babar's  eyes  involuntarily  travelled  over  the  distorted 
body,  the  crumpled  limbs,  and  Poverty-prince  laughed 
cynically. 

"Thou  art  right,  boy,"  he  went  on;  "loathsome  to 
sight  and  touch,  what  had  I  to  do  with  weddings.  But 
princedom  weighs  heavy  with  the  pandars  of  the  court. 
And  'twas  done  early.  Mayhap  they  did  not  dream  I 
would  grow  up  so  monstrous  —  as  I  did."  He  paused 
and  his  pale  face  grew  paler,  his  hot  fingers  clasped  and 
unclasped  themselves.  "  Mayest  thou  never  —  nay !  thou 
will  not  —  see  fear  upon  a  girl's  face.  I  saw  it.  Dost 
understand?  Nay,  thou  art  but  a  child  still.  Thank 
God!  I  did.       So  she  waits  for  release  by  my  death. 


48  KING-ERRANT 

And  then  — "  He  paused  again  and  this  time  bright, 
cold  raillery  took  possession  of  his  face  as  he  said: 
"  Thou  wilt  make  a  fine  bridegroom,  cousin-ling,  some 
day !     Fair  maids  will  not  be  alarmed  at  thee !  " 

"  Likely  I  shall  be  of  them,"  answered  the  boy  stoutly ; 
and  it  was  true ;  barring  Dearest-One,  the  stupid,  minc- 
ing creatures  filled  him  with  dismay. 

This  passed  but  a  few  days  before  Kasim,  who 
thought  his  young  charge  had  had  quite  enough  of  the 
camp,  proposed  starting  homewards.  There  seemed  no 
prospect  of  the  campaign  coming  to  a  close.  Quite  a 
variety  of  strategical  movements  had  been  made,  mines 
had  been  dug,  forts  besieged,  but  the  result  was  nil 
And  time  was  passing.  Events  had  not  been  going 
smoothly  at  Samarkand,  the  moment  for  intervention 
might  be  near  and  Grandmother  Isan-daulet  had  sent  a 
messenger  advocating  return. 

None  too  soon,  for  the  very  same  day  King  Hussain's 
runners  brought  news  of  a  conspiracy  to  turn  out  Bais- 
anghar,  and  bring  in  a  younger  brother  Ali-Khan. 

"  But  he  is  not  of  the  blood,  either,"  said  Babar  hotly. 
**  Kasim !  we  must  go  back  at  once."  The  desire  for  con- 
quest  was  stirring  in  him  once  more. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  sire,"  replied  the  stout  war- 
rior, settling  his  sword  belt.  He  had  wearied  terribly 
among  the  smart  soldiers  and  was  longing  for  a  real  raid 
once  more. 

"  To  say  farewell,"  echoed  Poverty-prince,  when  Ba- 
bar looked  in  that  night  at  his  cousin's  tent ;  "  I  thought 
it  was  not  to  be  for  a  week  yet."  And  his  hot  hand 
clasped  the  cool  one  with  a  lingering  touch. 

"  There  was  news  from  Samarkand,"  replied  the  lad, 
regret  tempering  the  keenness  which  had  come  to  his 
face  with  the  prospect  of  action.  "  And,  cousin,  it  mat- 
ters little  —  'tis  but  a  few  hours'  difference  —  " 


KING-ERRANT  49 

"  A  few  hours  ?  "  echoed  the  cripple,  speaking,  for  the 
first  time  since  Babar  had  known  him,  almost  regret- 
fully ;  "  that  means  much  to  one  who  has  but  a  few  days 
or  weeks  to  live.  Not  that  it  does  so  really,  coz,"  he 
added,  recovering  his  usual  serenity.  "  And  thou  wilt 
spare  me  one  of  the  hours?  I  dare  claim  so  much  of 
my  twin  ?  " 

The  pathetic  playfulness  of  the  appeal  went  straight 
to  the  lad's  soft  heart;  he  fell  on  his  knees  beside  the 
cushions,  then  sat  back  in  the  Mahomedan  attitude  of 
prayer.  "  Nay,  brother,"  he  said  —  and  there  was  quite 
a  tremble  in  his  young  voice  —  "  say  not  so  —  I  am  but 
a  poor  creature  beside  thee.  Thou  art  —  truly  I  know 
not  what !  Sometimes  I  think  an  angel  from  God's  para- 
dise —  thou  art  so  splendid !  " 

"  Knowest  thou  if  angels  be  splendid?"  asked  Pov- 
erty-prince with  radiant  raillery.  "  For  myself  I  know 
not  —  only  this  —  that  I  shall  miss  my  double  —  "  He 
looked  at  the  lad's  lithe  limbs,  at  his  long  legs,  his  great 
stretch  of  arm.  "  And  to  think,"  he  muttered,  "  that  I 
might  have  been  born  so  —  My  God !  to  think  of  it." 

Then  suddenly  he  clapped  his  hands  and  gave  a  per- 
emptory order  to  the  servant  who  appeared. 

"  See  that  I  be  not  disturbed  —  that  no  one  enters." 

He  waited  till  they  were  alone,  then  drew  something 
from  his  bosom  and  held  it  before  him  in  both  hands. 
It  was  a  tiny  crystal  bowl  scarce  large  enough  for  his 
finger  tips.  But  they  held  the  glittering  thing  lightly. 
It  looked  like  a  diamond  body  to  two  fluttering  ivory 
wings,  as  he  said  slowly,  musically. 

"  It  hath  lain  in  my  breast,  ever.  I  found  it  in  the 
hand  of  death,"  he  said  dreamily,  ''but  the  Riddle-of- 
Life  ends  for  me,  and  begins  for  thee.  So  take  it,  when 
I  have  told  thee  how  it  came  to  me." 

Those  ivory  hands  of  his  seemed  more  like  wings  than 


50  KING-ERRANT 

ever  as,  still  holding  the  bowl  before  him,  he  lay 
back  and  it  showed  clear  against  the  shadows  of  the 
tent. 

"  Thou  knowest,"  he  went  on,  "  the  graveyards  of  the 
hill- folk?  Set  on  an  hill  and  thick  with  iris  flowers  — 
the  flowers  of  immortality  —  the  green  sword  leaves 
guarding  the  blossoms,  guarding  the  quiet  dead  below? 
It  was  the  day  I  saw  fear  in  a  maiden's  eyes  —  there  was 
such  a  graveyard  not  far  from  her  father's  dwelling  —  he 
is  dead  now  and  she  awaits  the  release  of  death  amongst 
beneficent  ladies  in  a  House-of-Rest  at  Herat  —  and  I 
bid  them  carry  me  there ;  for  my  heart  was  aflame  and 
I  cursed  God  for  this  carcase,  seeing  she  was  fair.  So 
they  left  me  there  overlooking  the  valley,  and  when  they 
had  gone  I  lay  amid  the  crushed  iris  and  writhed  —  but 
of  that  no  more.     It  hath  passed. 

*'  So,  suddenly,  between  my  empty  wide-spread  arms 
and  clutching  fingers  I  saw  something  amid  the  crushed 
blossoms.  It  must  have  been  a  very  old  grave  on  which 
I  lay,  since  the  iris  roots  matted  thick  upon  it  as  if  to 
hide  the  dead  that  lay  in  the  hollow  of  it ;  for  the  rams 
and  the  winds  sweeping  on  that  high  exposed  spot  had 
torn  the  covering  of  soil  from  Mother  Earth's  bosom. 
What  I  saw  was  this  crystal  cup.  Perchance  it  had  been 
used  when  the  dead  was  laid  to  rest,  and  forgotten. 
Perchance  some  sad  lover  had  set  it  there  with  flowers 
and  tears  in  the  poignancy  of  first  grief,  and  gone  away 
to  love  another.  Who  knows?  The  iris-roots  had 
grown  to  a  cup  around  it ;  twisted,  white,  iris-roots  like 
dead  fingers ;  and  I  took  it  from  them.  Take  thou  it,  O 
Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed,  from  one  close  to  the  Adven- 
ture of  Death.  I  burden  the  gift  with  but  one  condi- 
tion —  if  ever  thou  comest  across  a  frightened  maid  — " 
here  his  whole  face  became  radiant  with  smiles  — "  be 
not  afraid  of  her.  So  take  it  cousin-ling.  It  is  no  cup 
of  King  Jamsheed  to  bring  thee  counsel  in  thy  need. 


KING-ERRANT  51 

Yet  it  hath  its  virtue  to  those,  who,  Hke  thou  hast,  have 
eyes  to  see.     It  can  bring  content." 

Content!  was  this  the  secret  of  Poverty-prince's 
charm?  Babar,  bold,  young,  every  fibre  of  him  keen- 
strung  for  the  Life,  on  the  brink  of  which  he  stood,  cared 
little  for  content.  Yet  he  took  the  cup  and  looked  at  it 
curiously.  Quaint  of  a  surety!  Taller  than  it  was 
broad.  Small  enough  to  lie  in  the  hollow  of  the  hand. 
The  brim  over-thick  by  reason  of  heavy  bosses  below 
the  edge :  five  bosses  like  those  in  blown  glass,  but  oval, 
like  eyes.  The  rest  faintly  frosted  by  fine  scratchings 
(were  they  without  or  within? — within  surely)  which, 
were  they  letterings,  would  need  a  magnifying  glass  ere 
they  could  be  deciphered.  But  at  the  bottom,  so  dis- 
posed that  one  must  read  in  drinking,  these  words 
showed  clear: 

"  Save  the  cup  of  life,  what  gift  canst  thou  bring?" 

That  was  from  Hafiz  surely? 

"  Aye !  divine  Hafiz,"  replied  his  cousin  answering  his 
thought  boldly.  *'  Now,  hold  it  to  the  light,  cousin-ling, 
and  see  its  virtue.'' 

The  boy  did  as  he  was  bid,  feeling  dazed  and  dream- 
ful. A  seven-lamped  tripod  behind  his  cousin's  cushions 
had  been  lit  —  at  least  he  could  not  remember  that 
it  had  been  there  when  he  came  in  —  Seven  little 
lamps     .     .     . 

Why !  those  five  bosses  were  deftly  arranged  to  gather 
the  light  and  send  it  .  .  .  God  and  His  Prophet! 
How  beautiful! 

Through  the  clear  eye  before  his  eyes  he  saw  his 
cousin's  face  —  all  glorified — splendid  utterly     .     .     . 

That  something  which  came  to  him  ever  with  the 
sight  of  beauty,  filled  him  with  joy     .     .     . 

But  stay !  the  bosses  must  be  magnifying  glasses  also ! 
He  could  read  something. 


52 


KING-ERRANT 


What  was  it? 

Ishk  (love)  ?  or  Ashk  (tears)  ? 

"  Thou  wilt  see  more  clearly  when  thou  hast  learnt  to 
use  the  five  eyes  of  the  soul,"  came  his  cousin's  voice; 
"  then  thine  own  thoughts  will  return  to  thee  from  the 
Mirror-of-Life.  Now  put  it  into  the  bosom  of  thy  fur 
coat.  There  is  room  there  for  it  and  majesty  likewise. 
And  now  I  will  sing  the  Song-of-the-Bowl  ere  thou 
goest.'* 

He  clapped  his  hands  once  more,  and  the  boy  sighed 
and  rubbed  his  eyes  dreamily.  Surely  the  seven  lamps 
had  been  lit?  But  now  they  were  not;  the  semi-dark- 
ness of  the  scent-sodden  tent  closed  in  on  him,  and  that 
was  his  cousin's  every-day  voice: 

"  Bring  me  my  dulcimer,  slave !  Lo !  King-ling,  it 
suits  the  measure  better  than  the  cithdra  and  I  am  proud 
of  the  tune !     'Tis  my  own." 

So,  after  a  while,  the  tinkling  notes  began,  the  voice 
rose  plaintively: 


i  f  6^,r t 


dT^0 


i  Clear  Crys 
I  At         ev    - 


tal 
ery 


bowl, 
soul 


Thy 
Whose 


wine    bub  -  bias 
thirst  -  y        lips 


ME^ 


m 


fc 


f-   r 


^ 


^i 


laugh)  (Draughts      of...       Life's        nee    -    tar 

quaff  j  (  Crystal  Bowl,  what  doth  thou  bring  to  him 


m=M=r^ 


*=f=i 


KING-ERRANT 


58 


m 


i 


:M---¥-^l 


from    thy  bright  brim    ) 
(Omit S 


m 


fafe^ 


Glad  -  ness    or      grief? 


^ 


i 


"Clear  Crystal  Bowl!    Thy  sun-sparkles  blind 
Every  poor  soul  whose  eyes  seek  to  find 
Way  through  Life's  wilderness  on  thy  bright  brim, 
Crystal  Bowl ! 
What  wilt  thou  bring  to  him. 
Darkness  or  Light? 

Clear  Crystal  Bowl!    Thy  touch,  icy  cold, 

Chills  lovers  lips  that  lay  overbold 
Hot  clinging  kisses  on  thy  bright  brim. 
Crystal  Bowl! 
What  wilt  thou  bring  to  him. 
Love  or  Despair? 


Clear  Crystal  Bowl !     I  laugh  like  thy  wine ! 

Bring  me  Life's  whole !  all  things  must  be  mine ! 
Is  not  the  wide  world  mirrored  in  thee 
Crystal  Bowl? 
I  bid  thee  bring  to  me 
Joy,  Grief,  Life,  Death—" 

The  voice  ceased  and  there  was  silence  for  a  little 
while. 

But  in  all  the  long  after-years  the  memory  of  those 
tinkling  notes,  that  thin  voice  claiming  the  whole  of  life, 
remained  with  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed. 

"Well!     God's  peace  go  with  thee/'  said  Poverty- 


54  KING-ERRANT 

prince  brightly  at  the  last ;  "  methinks  thy  boyhood  is 
about  past,  and  sterner  stuff  hath  to  come.  But  keep 
the  gift  of  death  and  if  thou  lose  it  —  at  least  remem- 
ber  my  poor  verses.  And,  coz  —  "  here  the  wizened  face 
almost  dimpled  with  laughter,  *^  if  thou  comest  across 
the  frightened  maid  —  I  give  no  names,  they  are  an  en- 
cumbrance, remember  to  make  her  not  frightened  of  my 
twin !     Farewell." 

It  was  a  stirring  night.  The  river  had  to  be  crossed 
silently  in  the  very  face  of  Khosrau  Shah's  pickets  (for 
he  was  holding  the  north  bank  for  his  nominee  the  nin- 
compoop) and  a  stealthy  way  made  skirting  the  enemy's 
camp,  ere  they  could  reach  the  hills  beyond.  Some  of 
the  party  felt  inclined  to  put  Andijan  tactics  in  force, 
make  a  rush  through  the  out-posts,  give  and  take  a  few 
sabre  cuts,  and  so  make  off ;  but  Babar,  even  though  old 
Kasim  hesitated,  had  learnt  something  besides  accom- 
plishments in  his  uncle's  camp;  he  had  learnt  that  time 
was  long,  and  that  it  was  well  to  choose  your  own.  So 
he  rode  canny. 

It  was  dawn  ere  they  reached  the  last  vantage  ground 
whence  they  could  see  the  camp  they  had  left.  It  lay 
curiously  calm  and  peaceful.  Kasim,  more  than  half- 
asleep  on  his  horse  now  there  was  no  chance  of  a  fine 
fight,  yawned,  and  stretched  his  arms  wide. 

"  No  more  of  that  for  me,"  he  said  lustily.  "  I  am 
for  cut  and  thrust  and  a  good  bellyful  of  plain  food." 

"  But  I  am  for  all  things,"  laughed  Babar.  He  was 
trying  to  pick  out  his  cousin's  tent,  and  as  he  spoke  he 
put  his  hand  into  the  bosom  of  his  coat  to  feel  for  the 
Crystal  Bowl. 

He  could  not  find  it ! 

Had  it  dropped  out  or  what     .     .     .     ? 

**  I  must  go  back,"  he  said,  half  to  himself  — "  I  must, 
I  must!" 


KING-ERRANT  55 

"  Go  back?  Wherefore?  "  asked  old  Kasim.  "  What 
is  it,  sire  —  to  go  back  is  Death ;  the  enemy  is  awake  by 
now." 

The  boy-King  looked  at  him  keenly.  "  Aye !  "  he  said 
shortly,  **  and  to  go  on  is  Life.  I  must  remember,  as 
he  said.     Forward !  gentlemen ! " 


CHAPTER  V 

The  day  of  delight  has  come  and  the  wind  brings  scent 
Of  musk  and  rose  and  lilies  and  peppermint. 

Ohl  day  of  delight  pass  slow! 

God's  flowers  must  blow. 

The  day  of  despair  has  come  and  the  wind  brings  dust 
To  bury  the  flowers;  the  song  of  the  birds  is  hushed. 

Oh,  day  of  despair  pass  swift! 

Let  God's  clouds  lift. 

The  days  of  despair  and  delight  have  come; 
Ah,  me!  I  care  not  away  from  my  home. 

The  days  of  God  pass  swift  and  slow. 

Allah-i-hu  —  allah-i-ho ! 

Ashraf  the  Exiled. 

Old  Isan-daulet,  who  had  been  Queen-regent  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  during  Babar's  absence,  wel- 
comed him  back  to  Andijan  somewhat  charily.  She 
had  sent  for  him  in  a  hurry  when  news  came  that  the 
Turkhans  of  Samarkand  had  revolted  against  Baisang- 
har,  captured  that  prince  by  stratagem,  and  put  Mirza 
AH  his  younger  brother  on  the  throne. 

But  now  the  tables  were  turned.  Baisanghar,  whom 
all  knew  to  be  wily  as  a  fox,  had  not  only  managed  to 
escape,  but  having  somehow  gained  the  sympathy  of  the 
townspeople,  they  had  risen  tumultuously  against  the 
Court-folk  and  the  Turkhans,  had  besieged  the  citadel 
which  had  not  been  able  to  hold  out  for  a  single  day, 
and  had  replaced  Baisanghar  —  why  only  God  knew! 

"  'Twill  be  because  of  his  love  odes,  grandmother,'' 
said  Babar  gravely ;  "  there  is  not  a  house  in  Samarkand 
where  a  copy  of  them  is  not  to  be  found." 

Isan-daulet  sniffed  captiously.     "  I  would  he  would 

56 


KING-ERRANT  57 

keep  his  love-songs  to  himself.  There  is  Dearest-One 
sick  as  a  magpie  still  with  the  shock  of  his  death,  and 
he  is  not  dead,  the  good-for-nothing." 

Babar's  lip  set.  "He  is  dead  to  her  anyhow,"  he  said, 
"  so  no  more  dreams  of  that,  grandmother.  I  forbid 
it,  and  so  I  will  tell  her." 

"  Hoighty-toighty ! "  sniffed  the  old  lady ;  but  in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  was  glad. 

"  Look  you ! "  she  said  to  her  daughter  afterwards, 
"  he  spoke  for  all  the  world  like  his  grandfather  when 
things  went  wrong.  Lo !  he  is  boy  no  longer.  We  must 
treat  him  as  a  man,  with  wiles." 

Such,  however,  was  not  Dearest-One's  treatment  of 
her  brother;  nor  was  his  of  her,  what  might  have  been 
expected  from  his  peremptory  tone  to  his  grandmother. 
How  could  it  be,  when  he  found  her  pale  and  dispirited, 
despite  her  joy  at  seeing  him?  He  beat  about  the  bush 
uncomfortably  for  quite  a  long  time,  until  with  character- 
istic clarity  he  blurted  out :  *'  And,  sister,  thou  must  think 
no  more  of  Baisanghar  —  he  is  a  worthless  scoun- 
drel — " 

The  girl,  ill  as  she  was,  looked  as  if  she  could  have 
stabbed  him  with  her  eyes. 

*'  That  he  is  not,"  she  said  proudly;  "  thou  art  like  the 
rest  of  them, —  even  the  Kwaja  —  yea!  I  have  talked 
with  him  concerning  it  and  he  knows,  mayhap,  more 
than  thou  dost  —  who  confound  the  sinner  with  the  sin. 
But  look  you,  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed,  were  there  no  man 
on  earth  but  Mirza  Baisanghar  I  would  not  have  him; 
and  yet  I  love  him  dearly,  dearly."  She  sank  back  on 
her  bed,  hid  her  face  in  the  quilt,  and  sobbed. 

Babar  stood  aghast,  yet  feeling  as  if  he  could  cry  too. 

"  I  wish  thou  had'st  known  Cousin  Gharib,"  he  said 
suddenly,  causelessly.  "  He  would  have  understood.  I 
cannot  —  not  yet." 


58  KING-ERRANT 

Then  he  turned  and  left  her.  What  was  the  use  of 
trying  to  comfort  anyone  when  you  did  not  know  the 
cause  of  their  sorrow?  And  Joy  and  Grief,  Life  and 
Death  had  to  come  if  one  were  to  live. 

Then  life  was  so  full  just  at  the  present.  The  very 
story  of  Baisanghar's  escape  was  enough  to  make  one's 
heart  beat.  Under  sentence  of  death,  and  such  a  death ! 
To  be  taken  with  pomp  and  ceremony  to  the  foot  of 
the  throne  in  the  Gokserai  —  the  Green-palace  —  that 
wonderful  palace,  four  stories  high,  built  by  the  Great 
Timur  in  the  citadel,  where  every  kingly  descendant  of 
his  must  be  enthroned,  where  every  kingly  descendant 
of  his  must  die  —  and  there  to  be  strangled !  With  that 
before  him,  to  have  the  nerve  in  a  few  minutes  to  un- 
brick  a  closed  door,  run  to  the  bastion,  fling  himself 
over  the  parapet  wall,  and  so  find  shelter  in  Kwaja 
Kwarka's  house  —  the  holiest  man  in  the  city !  A  thou- 
sand pities,  indeed,  that  Baisanghar  had  sunk  so  low. 
Aye!  Dearest-One  was  right.  One  could  condemn  the 
sin,  and  yet  do  justice  to  the  sinner.  Yet  there  was  a 
lack  of  kingliness  too  that  was  inexcusable.  To  allow 
his  brother  Ali  to  escape  also  was  perhaps  to  err  on  the 
side  of  mercy,  but  to  submit  to  be  beaten  by  him  in 
battle  immediately  afterwards  was  distinctly  unneces- 
sary! 

It  complicated  matters,  too,  most  dreadfully.  For  here 
was  Baisanghar,  acclaimed  by  the  people,  more  or  less 
imprisoned  in  the  City  of  Samarkand,  and  Ali-Mirza, 
nominated  by  the  Court,  beleaguering  him  from  the  Bok- 
hara side,  while  Khosrau  Shah,  relieved  from  the  neces- 
sity of  defending  Hissar  for  his  nincompoop  by  the 
withdrawal  of  Sultan  Hussain  back  to  Khorasan,  was 
hastening  all  he  knew  to  put  in  his  oar  for  his  nominee 
from  the  Hissar  side ! 

This  being  so,  and  neither  of  the  three  claimants  hav- 


KING-ERRANT  59 

ing  a  shadow  of  right  beside  his,  Babar's,  there  was 
nothing  for  it,  but  to  be  on  the  spot  at  once. 

So  kettledrums  were  beat  and  pennons  unfurled,  while 
Nevian-Gokultash  saw  to  his  young  master's  coat  of 
mail,  and  the  latter  pored  over  the  memoirs  of  his  great 
ancester  Timur  to  see  what  wrinkles  he  could  pick  up 
in  regard  to  the  disposition  of  troops  in  a  real  fine  fight ; 
for,  being  a  born  general,  he  was  dissatisfied  with  what 
he  had  seen,  even  with  Uncle  Hussain's  smart  soldiers. 

Only  Dearest-One  took  no  interest  in  the  military  prep- 
arations; she  embroidered  no  flag  with  crinkled  gold. 
She  sat  on  the  roof  and  watched  the  young  King  ride  out 
in  all  his  bravery  and  then  she  prayed  God  for  his  safety, 
and  also  for  the  safety  of  that  other  one,  who  deserved 
none. 

And,  for  a  time,  both  her  prayers  were  answered.  The 
summer  passed  on  to  winter  and  still  Samarkand,  the 
protected  city  that  has  never  really  fallen,  sat  gaily  se- 
cure in  its  wide  suburbs  and  vast  network  of  fortified 
gardens.  Scarcity,  indeed,  pressed  harder  outside  the 
walls  than  within.  Then  the  nincompoop  whose  only 
object  apparently  in  advancing  on  Samarkand  had  been 
to  pursue  his  mistress,  the  daughter  of  a  high  Court  of- 
ficial, succeeded  in  marrying  her,  and  so  retreated. 

Thus  Babar  found  himself  confronting  Baisanghar 
supported  by  the  populace,  and  Ali  by  the  Court.  They 
waited  and  looked  at  each  other  for  some  time;  and 
then  one  morning,  after  preliminaries,  Babar  moved  his 
army  some  twelve  miles  down  the  right  bank  of  the  river 
Kohik,  and  Ali-Mirza  moved  his  down  the  left.  So, 
with  their  armies  behind  them  (though  it  would  seem, 
somewhat  helpless  either  for  support  or  protection)  the 
two  young  Princes  each  with  five  followers  rode  from 
their  own  side  to  the  middle  of  the  stream  and  with  the 
chill  water  just  touching  their  horses'  bellies,  agreed  that 


60  KING-ERRANT 

if  the  summer  came  again  they  would  harry  Samarkand 
together. 

After  which  solemn  ceremonial  Ali  returned  to  his 
side  of  the  river,  and  Babar  to  his ;  whence  he  set  off  to 
Ferghana. 

It  was  not  a  very  distinguished  campaign  but  it  was 
his  first.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  it  was  uneventful  for 
he  was  busy  working  his  small  army  into  something  like 
dis:cipline.  Therein,  he  saw  clearly,  boy  as  he  was,  lay 
success ;  without  it,  there  was  nothing  but  one  long  suc- 
cession of  isolated  raids,  incoherent,  useless,  leaving  the 
people  ready,  as  they  had  been  in  the  beginning,  for 
a  new,   and  yet  another  new   conqueror. 

It  was  something,  therefore,  when  in  the  next  spring, 
he  found  himself  able  to  restrain  his  troops  and  to 
punish  severely  many  straggling  Moghuls  who  had  been 
guilty  of  great  excesses  in  the  different  villages  through 
which  they  had  passed.  It  was  an  unheard-of  idea,  but 
it  had  a  marked  effect;  for  shortly  afterwards  when  his 
camp  was  close  to  a  place  called  Yam,  a  number  of 
persons,  both  traders  and  others,  came  in  from  the  town 
to  buy  and  sell,  and  somehow,  about  afternoon  prayer- 
time  a  general  hubbub  arose  during  which  every  shop 
and  every  stranger  was  plundered.  Yet  an  order  that 
no  person  should  presume  to  detain  any  part  of  the  effects 
or  property  thus  seized,  but  that  the  whole  should  be  re- 
stored without  reserve  before  the  first  watch  of  the  next 
day  was  over,  resulted  in  not  one  bit  of  thread  or  a 
broken  needle  being  kept  by  the  army ! 

It  was  a  glorious  victory  for  pure  ethics  and  quite  re- 
paid Babar  for  having  to  remain  for  six  weeks  outside 
Samarkand.  Besides,  the  peach  gardens  were  in  full 
bloom.  It  was  curious  going  out  into  the  pleasure 
ground  of  the  city,  to  slash,  and  hack,  and  hew,  and  kill ! 
But  there  was  no  other  way  for  it,  and  many  were  the 


KING-ERRANT  61 

sharp  skirmishes  that  took  place  with  the  townspeople 
where  folk  as  a  rule  had  been  wont  to  disport  themselves 
on  holidays.  But  in  war-time  things  got  upside  down; 
witness  the  dastardly  deceit  of  the  Lover's  Cave  where 
five  of  Babar's  most  active  men  were  killed.  Seduced 
by  a  treacherous  promise  to  deliver  up  the  fort  if  a  party 
came  thither  by  night,  a  picked  troop  was  chosen  for  the 
service,  with  this  result. 

It  rankled  bitterly  in  the  young  commander's  heart; 
he  felt  himself  at  fault  for  his  greatest  weakness  — 
an  inveterate  habit  of  believing  what  he  heard. 

Yet  he  had  his  consolations.  Day  by  day,  as  he 
waited,  doing  his  best  with  the  small  force  at  his  com- 
mand to  cut  off  the  supplies  from  the  city,  the  number 
of  townspeople  and  traders  who  came  out  to  traffic  in 
the  camp  bazaar  increased,  until  it  became  like  a  city 
and  you  could  find  there  whatever  is  procurable  in  towns. 
And  day  by  day,  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  around 
came  in  and  surrendered  themselves,  their  castles,  their 
lands,  high  and  low.  Only  the  city  of  Samarkand  held 
out.  It  was  in  the  end  of  September  and  the  sun  was 
entering  the  Balance,  when  Babar,  weary  of  waiting, 
made  a  feint  march  to  the  rear  and  the  garrison  of 
Samarkand,  jumping  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  in  re- 
treat, rushed  out  in  great  number,  both  soldiers  and  cit- 
izens. Then  orders  were  given  to  the  cavalry  in  reserve 
to  charge  on  both  flanks ;  whereupon  God  prospering  the 
proceeding,  the  enemy  were  decisively  defeated;  nor 
from  that  time  forward  did  they  ever  again  venture  on  a 
rally.  No!  though  Babar's  soldiers  advanced  through 
the  now  leafless  peach  gardens  to  the  very  ditch  and 
carried  off  numbers  of  prisoners  close  under  the  walls. 

And  still  fair  Samarkand  stood  secure.  Seven  whole 
months  had  the  blockade  lasted,  and  now  the  winter's 
cold  was  coming  on  to  aid  the  garrison.     In  addition. 


62  KING-ERRANT 

the  great  Tiirkhestan  raider  Shaibani  Khan  was  said  to 
be  on  his  way  with  a  large  force  to  intervene  in  the 
quarrel.  Both  dangers  had  to  be  faced.  Babar  felt,  in 
view  of  the  first,  that  he  must  cantoon  his  men,  and  set 
to  work  marking  out  the  ground  for  the  huts  and 
trenches;  so,  leaving  labourers  and  overseers  to  go  on 
with  the  work,  he  returned  to  his  camp.  None  too  soon, 
for  the  very  next  morning  a  hostile  army  showed  to  the 
north.     It  must  be  Shaibani,  prince  of  Free-lances ! 

Nothing  dismayed,  by  the  fact  that  fully  half  his  sol- 
diers were  away  seeking  winter  quarters,  Babar  put  the 
forces  he  had  with  him  in  array,  and  marched  out  to 
meet  the  enemy.  Boldness  met  with  its  reward.  Shai- 
bani withdrew,  and  after  giving  the  young  King  some 
nights  of  sleepless  anxiety  went  back  whence  he  came, 
and  Baisanghar,  disappointed  in  relief,  resigned  himself 
to  despair  and  fled  accompanied  by  two  or  three  hundred 
naked  and  starving  followers. 

"  In  the  whole  habitable  world  are  few  cities  so  pleas- 
antly situated  as  Samarkand."  So  wrote  Babar  when 
at  the  age  of  fifteen  he  found  himself  met  as  King  by 
the  chief  men  of  the  city,  by  the  nobles,  by  the  young 
cavaliers,  and  escorted  to  the  Garden-Palace  where 
Baisanghar  had  lived.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  him  that 
his  cousin  had  escaped,  indeed  he  had  taken  no  precau- 
tions to  prevent  his  doing  so.  Babar*s  quarrel  was  not 
with  him,  but  with  his  claim,  and  as  the  lad  —  for  he 
was  but  a  lad  still  —  sat  that  night  under  the  roof 
which  had  sheltered  the  deposed  prince,  he  told  him- 
self he  had  been  right  when  he  had  said  to  Dearest- 
One  that  Baisanghar  would  never  make  a  king.  There 
were  no  signs  of  kingship  in  that  Garden-Palace.  No 
plans  or  sketches,  no  dry-as-dust  schedules.  Not  one 
of  the  papers  and  models  such  as  he,  Babar,  already 
carried  with  him.     Only  a  lute,  a  dulcimer,  some  dice- 


KING-ERRANT  68 

boxes.  Not  even  luxury!  Poor  Baisanghar!  Rightly 
had  he  called  himself  an  unsubstantial  shadow.  His 
poetry  was  the  best  part  of  him;  and  his  painting. 

Babar  sitting  alone  in  the  alcoved  room  which  Bais- 
anghar had  evidently  left  in  a  hurry,  lay  back  among 
the  cushions  of  the  divan  and  thrust  his  hand  beneath 
them  to  adjust  them  to  his  head.  There  was  some- 
thing hard  beneath  their  softness.  He  drew  it  out  and 
found  a  small  square  frame.  Of  gold  —  no!  it  was 
green  enamel  and  on  it  were  set,  like  flowers,  tur- 
quoises, rubies,  amethysts,  topazes. 

Why  did  it  remind  him  of  the  spring  meadows  about 
Andijan?  The  spring  meadows  set  with  forget-me- 
nots  and  tulips?  It  was  a  bit  too  dark  where  he  was 
to  see  the  pale  painting  it  held,  so  he  rose  and  took  it 
to  the  light. 

Dearest-One ! 

And  with  a  rush  came  back  accusingly  something  he 
had  almost  forgotten  all  these  months  of  striving  and 
stress.  Poverty-prince!  the  Cup-of-Life!  those  bosses 
that  gathered  the  Light  and  magnified  what  was  writ- 
ten by  Fate.  Once  or  twice  he  had  thought  of  it  care- 
lessly; but  now     .     .     .     ? 

Why  had  the  thought  come  back  to  him? 

It  was  a  speaking  likeness.  Faint-coloured,  delicate 
as  a  dream.  Perhaps  Baisanghar  had  meant  it  to  be  so. 
It  was  likely  he  did.  Poor  Baisanghar!  For  the  life 
of  him  Babar  could  not  help  pity,  even  when  he  found 
the  back  of  the  frame  was  covered  with  fine  writing  — 
with  verses !  —  not  even  when  he  recollected  that  it  was 
to  his  sister  that  they  were  dedicated! 

In  truth  there  was  little  in  them  of  oflFence,  and 
Babar  as  he  went  to  sleep  that  night.  King  of  Samar- 
kand, caught  himself  repeating  them.  They  were  cer- 
tainly very  neat  —  very  neat  indeed.     And  now  that  he 


64  KING-ERRANT 

had  had  time  to  think,  why  should  not  poor  Dearest- 
One  see  them?  They  had  given  him  a  kindlier  feeling 
towards  the  writer,  so  why  should  not  she    .     .    .     ? 

Why  not,  indeed!  The  Cup-of-Life  held  all  things 
for  all. 

Yes!  he  would  send,  or  give  her  the  portrait  as  it 
stood.  It  was  really  an  excellent  piece  of  work;  and 
the  words  were  perfect  —  the  construction,  and  the 
grammar  so  good. 

He  fell  asleep  reciting  them. 

HEFT-AURANG  * 

THE  SEVEN  THRONES 

Seven  thrones  and  each  a  star 
Set  in  God's  Heaven  afar; 
Seven  thrones  and  each  for  thee; 
Thank  God  there  is  no  place 

Beside  thy  face 

For  me!  for  me! 

Seven  sins  !    Ah !  more  than  seven 
To  cast  me  down  from  heaven; 
Seven  sins;  and  each  of  me! 
Thank  God  there  is  no  place 

Beside  my   face  ^ 

For  thee!  for  thee! 

Seven  stars  and  one  a  pole 
To  guide  the  wandering  soul 
To  rest;  but  not  for  me  — 
There  is  no  grace  or  place 

Beside  thy  face. 

Ah  me !     Ah  me ! 

"  Samarkand  is  a  wonderfully  elegant  city." 
So  wrote  its  young  King  the  next  evening.     He  had 
*The  Persian  name  for  the  Great  Bear. 


KING-ERRANT  65 

spent  the  day  in  going  round  his  new  possessions  and 
had  found  them  to  his  liking.  Not  only  was  the  little 
Mosque  with  its  carven  wooden  pilasters  quaintly  beau- 
tiful, but  the  big  one  was  magnificent  with  its  frontis- 
piece on  which  was  inscribed  in  letters  so  large  that 
they  could  be  read  a  mile  off: 

"And  Abraham  and  Ishmael  raised  the  foundations 
of  the  House  of  God  saying  *Lord  accept  it  from  us; 
for  Thou  art  He  who  heareth  and  knoweth/  " 

Then  the  gardens  were  a  joy,  the  baths  the  best  he 
had  ever  seen,  the  bakers'  shops  excellent,  the  cooks 
skilful.  And  the  dried  prunes  of  Bokhara,  a  fruit  re- 
nowned as  an  acceptable  rarity  and  a  laxative  of  ap- 
proved excellence,  were  to  be  found  in  perfection. 
Then  there  was  the  Observatory  built  by  Ulugh-Beg, 
his  ancestor,  who  had  been  a  great  mathematician. 
Babar  had  never  seen  an  observatory  before;  indeed 
there  were  at  that  time  but  seven  in  the  whole  world, 
so  it  was  an  honour  to  possess  one.  He  spent  many 
days  poring  over  its  astronomical  tables,  trying  to  un- 
derstand them;  and  finally  put  on  a  mathematical  mas- 
ter, since  no  science  could  possibly  come  amiss  to  a 
King.  Meanwhile  Nevian-Gokultash  and  Kasim  and 
all  the  Andijan  nobles,  bickered  inevitably  with  the 
Samarkand  grandees,  and  Babar  found  no  small  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  the  peace. 

Still,  life  was  once  more  splendid ;  at  any  rate  for  the 
young  King.  But  the  soldiers  grumbled  at  the  lack  of 
loot.  It  was  all  very  well  to  say  that  the  country  had 
voluntarily  submitted  and  was  therefore  beyond  plun- 
der, and  that  from  a  city  which  had  suffered  the  vicis- 
situdes of  war  for  two  years  and  withstood  a  siege  of 
seven  months,  it  was  impossible  to  levy  anything  by 
taxation.  It  was  all  very  well  to  supply  the  inhabitants 
with  seed  corn  and  supplies  to  enable  them  to  carry  on 


66  K  I  N  G  -  E  R  R  A  N  T 

till  harvest  time.  But  charity  began  at  home,  and  home 
under  these  circumstances   was  best. 

The  wild  Moghuls  deserted  first;  then  by  twos  and 
threes,  the  other  men  slipped  away  by  night. 

Yet  still  life  was  splendid.  On  those  same  clear 
winter's  nights  Babar  could  watch  the  stars  with  new- 
found knowledge. 

"  If  the  Most  Excellent  would  watch  the  barracks 
instead,"  growled  old  Kasim,  "  it  would  be  well.  Our 
men  grow  thin.  There  are  scarce  a  thousand  of  them 
left,  all  told;  and  new  friends  are  not  so  good  as  old 
ones.  The  Samarkandis  are  doubtless  fine  fellows,  as 
the  Most  Excellent  appears  to  find  them;  but  would 
they  follow  back  to  Andijau  if  occasion  occur?'' 

And  occasion  did  occur.  A  letter  arrived  from 
Babar's  maternal  uncle  the  Khan  of  Moghulistan  who, 
urged  doubtless  by  the  deserters,  wrote  saying  that  as 
the  former  had  possessed  himself  of  Samarkand,  it  was 
only  fair  that  his  younger  brother  Jahangir,  who,  after 
all,  was  the  son  of  Omar  SaikKs  first  wife  should  be 
given  Andijan. 

Kasim,  who  with  his  usual  frown  at  all  letters  sat 
listening,  spat  solemnly  on  the  ground.  "  Poison  breeds 
poison,"  he  said ;  "  I  deemed  that  talk  had  been  spilt  in 
the  blood  from  Hussan  Yakoob's  hinder  parts  four 
years  past.  But  'tis  never  too  late  for  mischief  when 
women  are  left  to  themselves  as  they  are  at  Andijan." 

"  But  my  grandmother  is  sagacious,"  began  Babar. 

Kasim  shrugged  his  shoulders,  *'  Saw  you  ever  a 
woman  who  could  manage  a  woman,  sire?  So  have 
not  I.  Begum  Fatima  and  she  have  been  spitting  at 
each  other  like  wild  cats,  and  what  is  wanted  is  a 
stick.     Now,  what  is  to  be  said  ? " 

Babar  spoke  hotly.  "  That  I  will  not  hear  of  it ! 
No!  though  I  might  of  myself  have  made  my  brother 


KING-ERRANT  67 

governor.  But  of  myself.  This  savours  of  command. 
He  knows  my  men  have  gone  back!  I  will  not  hear 
the  tone  of  authority." 

And  Babar  as  he  spoke  felt  himself  tremble  with  an- 
ger. His  voice  was  hoarse,  too,  and  his  head  ached. 
He  had  been  sitting  up  all  night  in  the  Observatory  to 
watch  an  eclipse  of  the  moon,  and  despite  his  fur  coat 
had  felt  chill ;  for  February  had  brought  bitter  winds. 

"  So  be  it !  "  said  old  Kasim  gleefully.  He  was  get- 
ting weary  of  Samarkand!  side,  and  foresaw  more  fight- 
ing now  the  spring  was  at  hand. 

Next  day  a  special  messenger,  foot  in  hand  from  An- 
dijan,  found  Babar  in  bed  with  a  severe  cold.  And  the 
letter  from  Kwaja  Kazi  did  not  mend  matters.  Briefly, 
the  deserting  soldiers,  discontented,  disloyal,  were  giving 
trouble,  and  if  help  were  not  sent  at  once  events  might 
come  to  a  very  bad  termination. 

That  night  delirium  came  to  the  young  soul,  as  the 
young  body  lay  fighting  for  breath  against  pneumonia. 

The  physician  bled  him,  of  course,  and  fed  him  with 
almonds  and  ginger.  And  they  closed  every  door  and 
window,  so  that  the  wood-smoke  filled  the  room  and 
such  little  lung-space  as  was  left.  But  splendid  youth 
and  health  were  his,  and  after  a  few  days  he  lay  out- 
wearied  with  his  hand-to-hand  fight  with  Death,  look- 
ing at  the  letters  which  had  followed  fast  upon  each 
other  during  his  illness.  And  each  brought  worse  news 
than  the  last.  Andijan  was  besieged.  Any  moment 
his  women-folk  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 
He  must  start  at  once.  To  set  aside  Nevian-Gokul- 
tash's  protestations,  was  easier  than  to  rise  and  dress. 
Once  up,  however,  he  managed  the  council  of  war  cred- 
itably, and  for  a  day  held  his  own  bravely,  giving  or- 
ders for  this  and  that. 

A   tall,  thin,   haggard  young  figure  with   sharpened 


68  KING-ERRANT 

features  and  eager  eyes  defying  Fate;  until  suddenly 
voice  left  him,  he  struggled  on  for  an  hour  or  two,  then 
lay  unconscious.  So  weak  that  they  did  not  dare  bleed 
him  again,  but  mercifully  left  him  as  he  was.  Only 
Nevian-Gokultash  at  his  right  hand,  moistening  the 
dear  lips  with  cotton  dipped  in  water,  while  Kasim  sat 
still  as  a  statue,  the  tears  running  down  his  furrowed 
cheeks. 

Was  this,  then,  the  end  of  that  vivid  young  life,  the 
like  of  which  had  never  been  seen? 

But  the  Samarkandi  fellows  who  did  not  really  care 
might  go  about  the  city  as  dogs,  and  yelp  the  news  that 
Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  their  King  was  dying,  nay!  was 
dead.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  this  had  been  done,  for 
hour  by  hour,  day  by  day  the  Garden-Palace  became 
more  and  more  empty,  more  and  more  solitary. 

A  runner  from  Andijan,  bearing  further  news  found 
it  so,  and,  anxious  for  the  truth,  stole  upstairs  on  tip- 
toe to  see  for  himself. 

How  still!  How  cold!  How  silent!  And  that 
half-seen  form  in  the  dusk,  motionless  among  the 
quilts?  Dead!  Dead!  or  so  close  to  Death  J:hat  no 
alternative  remained. 

That  night  as  his  bells  tinkled  from  his  post-runner's 
pike  as  he  ran  past  village,  and  field,  and  wood,  they 
jangled  the  refrain  that  was  on  his  mouth  for  all  who 
cared  to  listen. 

"  Babar  is  dead !  Life  has  ended !  The  cup  is  fin- 
ished!'' 

Yet,  even  as  the  words  rang  out  on  the  chill  air,  other 
words,  faint,  scarce  to  be  heard,  were  startling  those 
two  sad  watchers  in  the  Garden-Palace. 

"The  Crystal  Bowl.  Give  it  back  to  me  ...  I 
,  .  .  I  laugh  as  I  drink.  .  .  .  Bring  me  the 
whole,  I  say,  the  whole." 


KING-ERRANT  69 

The  boy's  brain,  faintly  conscious,  was  taking  com- 
mand once  more. 

And  the  body  obeyed.  In  four  or  five  days  he  was 
reading  letters  of  despair  from  his  mother,  from  old 
Isan-daulet,  from  Dearest-One.  Samarkand,  they  said, 
had  been  taken  with  troops  from  Andijan.  Could  not 
one  man  be  spared  from  Samarkand  to  keep  Andi- 
jan? 

Babar  had  not  the  heart  to  delay,  and  ill  as  he  was 
set  off  in  a  litter  with  such  followers  as  he  could  gather 
together.  It  was  a  Saturday  in  March  that  he  started; 
just  a  hundred  days  since  he  had  entered  Samarkand, 
and  he  knew  he  could  not  hope  to  return  as  King. 
''  One  hundred  days  only,"  he  thought,  as  he  jolted 
through  the  peach  gardens  that  were  once  again  swell- 
ing to  bud. 

He  reached  Khojend  by  forced  marches  in  a  week's 
time;  but  by  then  he  was  on  his  horse  again,  beginning 
to  regain  strength  and  colour. 

So  he  wondered  why  the  people  looked  at  him  so 
strangely  as  he  rode  through  the  town.  Did  they  take 
him  for  a  ghost? 

Yet  he  was  even  as  one  when  they  told  him  the 
news.  Just  a  week  before,  on  the  very  Saturday  when 
he  had  started  in  such  haste  from  Samarkand,  Andijan 
had  capitulated,  needlessly  capitulated,  to  the  enemy  on 
the  news  of  Babar's  death  brought  by  a  returning 
post-runner. 

For  the  sake  of  Andijan  he  had  lost  Samarkand,  and 
now  found  that  he  had  lost  the  one  without  preserving 
the  other. 

Worse  still,  he  had  lost  a  dear  friend ;  for  the  saintly 
Kwaja  Kazi,  protesting  against  the  premature  yielding 
of  the  citadel  while  there  was  yet  no  lack  of  provisions 
or  of  fighting  men,  had  been  barbarously  martyred  by 


70  KING-ERRANT 

being  hanged  in  a  shameful  manner  over  the  gate  of  the 
citadel 

No  wonder  Babar  wrote  in  the  diary  he  had  begun 
to  keep :  ''  I  was  in  a  very  distressed  condition  and  wept 
a  great  deal." 


CHAPTER  VI 

Blest  is  the  soul  that  is  lifted  above 
The  paltry  cares  of  Self's  selfish  love. 
Which  adds  no  weight  to  another's  care 
And  gives  no  soul  a  burden  to  bear, 
Which  takes  what  comes  as  its  part  and  lot, 
Which  laughs  at  trouble  and  worries  not, 
Which  sleeps  without  malice  or  fraud  in  its  breast 
And  rises  pure  from  its  daily  rest. 

Jdmi. 

There  was  a  sad  meeting,  naturally,  with  the  women- 
folk Babar  had  hoped  to  help,  and  who  were  —  some- 
what contemptuously  —  sent  to  him,  unharmed,  after  a 
few  days.  Or  perhaps  that  *'  divinity  which  doth  hedge 
a  king  "  or  whatever  it  was,  which  all  his  life  long  en- 
sured Babar's  own  safety,  extended  itself  to  those  who 
were  dear  to  him. 

Anyhow  they  came,  and  fell  with  tears  on  the  neck 
of  their  dethroned  darling.  Dearest-One,  slim  and  tall, 
her  face  still  showing  the  lines  of  conflicting  anxieties, 
yet  still  sweet  utterly,  without  trace  of  bitterness  for 
her  brother.  The  Khanum,  too  rejoiced  at  seeing  her 
son  alive  and  well  to  care  so  much  about  his  loss  of 
dignity.  Old  Isan-daulet,  keener  of  look  and  sharper 
of  tongue  than  ever,  but  with  a  world  of  sympathy  in 
her  stern  eyes  for  the  lad  who  had  lost  all  save  honour. 
For  she  realised  that  Babar  had  practically  given  up 
Kingship  for  the  sake  of  his  womenkind.  He  had  had 
fair  grip  of  Samarkand,  and  even  with  but  a  thousand 
devoted  followers  of  his  own  to  help  him  hold  it,  could, 
nay  would  have  done  so. 

Babar,  himself,  did  not  attempt  to  deny  his  virtue, 

71 


72  KING-ERRANT 

He  never  did;  he  was  too  frank  to  gloze  over  any  of 
his  actions,  good  or  bad.  He  had  done  the  right  thing 
and  he  accepted  the  fact  gravely ;  perhaps  a  trifle  pomp- 
ously; but  that  was  his  nature.  In  the  same  way,  he 
could  not  fail  to  see,  that  what  had  placed  him  in  the 
unfortunate  position  of  having  insufficient  followers  to 
hold  both  Samarkand  and  Andijan,  was  no  error  of 
judgment  on  his  part,  but  simply  his  extreme  and  un- 
usual justice  in  refusing  to  grind  down  the  distressed 
inhabitants  of  the  former  city  for  the  benefit  of  his 
soldiery.  Could  he  only  have  shut  his  eyes  to  the 
usual  undisciplined  plunder  his  army  would  not  have 
deserted  wholesale. 

He  was  not  introspective,  but  he  knew,  vaguely,  that 
he  had,  somehow,  had  no  choice  in  the  matter.  He  had 
been  born  with  this  strong  sense  of  justice,  so  he  could 
not  help  himself;  therefore  despite  this  recognition  of 
his  own  virtue,  it  slipped  from  him  like  water  off  a 
duck's  back  leaving  no  self-conceit  behind. 

So  he  welcomed  his  loving  women  quite  whole-heart- 
edly, and  then  wept  more  profusely  than  ever  at  the 
difficulty  of  maintaining  them  in  proper  fashion.  Not 
that  they  wanted  this.  The  Khanum,  gentle,  kindly 
soul,  was  only  too  glad  that  her  quite  capable  hands 
should  do  all  things  for  her  darling,  Dearest-One 
brisked  up  with  work  that  took  her  out  of  herself,  and 
Isan-daulet  had  roughed  it  too  much  in  her  youth  not 
to  enjoy  the  familiarity  of  roughing  it  again.  And 
life,  even  at  Khojend,  a  miserable  place  in  which  a  sin- 
gle nobleman  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  support 
his  family,  was  not  without  its  interests.  Of  the  rather 
more  than  two  hundred,  and  considerably  less  than 
three  hundred  followers  who  chose  exile  with  their 
young  King,  quite  a  number  were  men  of  good  family^ 
whose  wives  and  children  joined  them. 


KING-ERRANT  73 

There  was,  therefore,  company  of  a  sort.  Then 
Babar,  despite  his  tears,  was  not  one  to  give  in.  In- 
spired as  he  was  by  an  ambition  for  conquest  and  ex- 
tensive dominions,  he  could  not,  on  account  of  one  or 
two  paltry  defeats,  sit  down  and  look  idly  about  him. 

So,  at  any  rate,  he  told  the  three  loving  women  with 
his  usual  serious  pomp,  when  he  sent  a  request  for  as- 
sistance to  his  uncle,  the  Khan  of  Moghulistan,  and 
then  set  off  to  reconnoitre  around  Samarkand.  He  re- 
turned ere  long  disappointed;  but  was  soon  on  the 
march  again  to  see  his  uncle  in  person  at  Tashkend.  In 
this  he  was  encouraged  by  Isan-daulet  who  remem- 
bered her  brother  of  old.  "  Lo !  I  know  him.  A  good 
soul  but  a  stupid.  The  brains  of  my  father,  Yunus, 
went  in  the  female  line.  But  if  you  beat  his  ears  with 
words  he  will  listen.  And  keep  on  the  soft  side  of 
Shah-Begum,  my  husband's  widow  —  God  rest  his  soul ! 
Anyhow  he  is  at  peace  from  her !  A  clever  woman,  but 
like  a  camel  in  mud  —  slippery !  " 

And  this  expedition  was  so  far  successful  that  the 
young  leader  actually  returned  from  it  once  more  at 
the  head  of  some  seven  or  eight  hundred  horsemen. 
Rather  a  wild  lot,  mostly  free-lance  Moghuls  eager  for 
loot  and  violence.  But  it  was  better  than  nothing, 
though  Khojend  was  not  large  enough  to  hold  them, 
even  for  a  night.  Mercifully,  however,  there  was  an 
enemy's  fort  some  forty  miles  off,  so,  taking  scaling 
ladders  with  them,  they  rode  on  to  it  and  carried  the 
place  by  surprise.  But  even  one  day  of  Babar's  strict 
discipline  was  more  than  enough  for  the  wild  men  of 
the  desert,  and  the  very  next  morning  the  Moghul  Begs 
represented  that,  having  but  a  mere  handful  of  men, 
no  possible  benefit  could  result  to  anyone  from  the 
keeping  of  one  miserable  castle;  and  so,  there  being 
truth  in  this  remark,  they  rode  off  to  their  desert  again 


74  KING-ERRANT 

unabashed,  leaving  Babar  to  return  annoyed,  but  not 
despondent.  For  at  this  particular  fortress  there  grew 
a  particular  melon,  yellow  in  colour,  with  skin  puckered 
like  shagreen  leather.  A  remarkably  delicate  and 
agreeable  melon,  with  seeds  about  the  size  of  those  of 
an  apple,  and  pulp  four  fingers  thick,  which  everyone 
agreed  was  not  to  be  equalled  in  that  quarter. 

It  was  as  well,  certainly,  to  have  gained  something 
if  only  a  good  melon,  and  the  little  party  at  Khojend 
feasted  on  it  and  thanked  God  they  had  their  boy  back 
again  safe  and  sound. 

The  summer  was  passing  to  autumn  when  another  fit 
of  despondency  came  to  young  Babar  in  the  news  of 
his  cousin  Gharib-Beg's  death.  The  invalid  had  lin- 
gered far  longer  than  had  been  expected,  but  still  the 
certainty  that  he  was  gone  brought  grief;  the  more  so 
because  it  re-aroused  regret  for  the  lost  Crystal  Bowl; 
regret  which  had  almost  been  forgotten  in  the  clash  of 
arms  of  the  last  few  months.  But  now  he  had  time — - 
only  too  much  of  it  —  for  thoughts.  Not  given  to  mys- 
ticism in  any  form,  he  yet  wondered  vaguely  if  the 
Crystal  Bowl  had  ever  existed,  or  if  the  whole  incident 
had  not  been  part  of  the  curious  hold  Poverty-prince 
had  had  upon  his  imagination;  and  not  on  his  only,  but 
on  the  imagination  of  all  with  whom  the  cripple  had 
come  in  contact. 

And  now  he  was  dead !  Gone  for  ever,  like  so  many 
friends  in  these  last  troublous  times. 

Babar,  translucent  as  the  crystal  itself,  gloomed  under 
the  shadow  of  his  regrets  till  his  mother  began  to  fret 
with  the  fear  of  on-coming  illness. 

But  Dearest-One  knew  her  brother  better.  "  He 
must  get  away  from  us  all,''  she  said.  *'  Yea !  even 
from  old  Kasim  and  his  warriors.  Let  him  go  to  the 
White  Mountains  a-hunting  for  the  winter/' 


KING-ERRANT  75 

But  Barbar  would  have  none  of  it. 

The  White  Mountains?  Aye!  they  would  be  splen- 
did—  there  were  more  bears  there  than  in  any  other 
part  of  the  country.  Aye!  and  snow  leopard  too  — 
the  lad's  eyes  glistened  as  he  admitted  this  —  but 
he  could  not  leave  his  women-folk  again,  and  he  ought 
not  to  leave  those  who,  to  their  own  cost,  had  chosen  to 
stick  by  him. 

"  Then  we  will  go  also,''  said  Dearest-One,  nothing 
daunted.  **  We  are  not  of  towns  more  than  thou  art, 
and  thou  canst  divide  thy  magnificent  army!  —  take  a 
hundred  men  with  thee  and  leave  an  hundred  to  guard 
Khojend!'' 

Her  sweet  eyes  smiled  at  him,  and  he  agreed.  No 
one  in  all  his  life  had  understood  him  like  Dearest-One, 
he  thought ;  there  was  perfect  confidence  between  them, 
though,  strangely  enough,  he  had  never  yet  given  her 
the  portrait  he  had  found  in  the  Garden-Palace  —  the 
portrait  left  by  Baisanghar  in  his  flight. 

Why  had  he  not  done  so?  He  scarcely  knew,  ex- 
cept that  he  had  felt  shy  of  broaching  a  subject  that 
seemed  buried.  'Twas  best  not  to  rouse  coiled  snakes, 
and  Baisanghar,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  Bokhara,  had 
gone  out  of  their  lives  altogether;  out  of  his,  Babar's, 
at  any  rate. 

But  everything  seemed  gone  out  of  that;  as  the 
Turkhi  couplet  said: 

"  No  home,  no  friends,  no  roof  above  my  head ; 
Six  feet  of  earth,  no  more,  to  make  my  bed." 

The  White  Mountains,  however  —  white  indeed  dur- 
ing winter  with  their  snowy  slopes  invading  all  save 
the  tiny  cleft  of  the  valley  where  the  skin  tents  of  the 
little  party  had  been  pitched  —  soon  brought  back  con- 


76  KING-ERRANT 

tent.  It  was  as  if  the  soft  covering  of  snow  had  blot- 
ted out  the  past,  and  the  winter  slipped  by,  full  up  with 
trivial  distractions. 

Babar,  returning  long  after  dark  to  the  encampment 
with  half-a-dozen  or  so  of  bear-skins,  forgot  he  was, 
or  ever  had  been.  King.  And  when  early  spring  came 
on,  and  the  bears  were  breeding,  he  took  to  hunting 
tulips  instead.  There  were  so  many  different  kinds  of 
them.  Over  thirty;  and  one  yellow,  double  and  sweet- 
scented  like  a  rose.  Dearest-One  used  to  accompany 
him  on  these  expeditions,  for  she  was  a  real  Moghul 
maiden,  and  the  bright,  cold  winter  had  braced  her  up, 
until  her  cheeks  glowed  once  more.  Yet  still  Babar 
had  never  given  her  the  portrait  of  herself,  though  he 
carried  it  with  him  more  than  once  with  that  deter- 
mination. Again,  he  scarcely  knew  why,  except  that 
it  seemed  to  him  the  right  thing  to  do.  Why  should  she 
not  have  it? 

But  one  day  the  brother  and  sister  had  wandered  high 
over  the  melting  snow  slopes^  where  the  flowers  lay 
thick  as  a  carpet.  Blue  spring  gentian  and  clustered 
pink  primrose,  purple  pansy,  and  deep  brown  nodding 
columbines  above  a  mosaic  of  forget-me-not  and  yel- 
low crowsfoot.  Great  sweeps  and  drifts  of  flowers 
where  the  snow-drifts  ended,  and  beyond  in  the  far, 
far  distance,  in  a  dip  of  the  hills,  a  level  line  of  clear 
cobalt-blue. 

''  Yonder  lies  Samarkand,"  said  Babar,  glooming  in 
a  second  with  the  thought  of  past  defeat ;  but  his  mind, 
ever  vagrant,  followed  swiftly  a  line  of  new  thought 
as  he  narrowed  his  long  eyes  to  see  better.  "  Had  I 
the  quaint  contrivance  at  the  Observatory  there,"  he 
went  on ;  "  did  I  not  tell  thee  of  it  ?  —  no !  —  Well ! 
'twas  a  thing  with  curved  glasses  in  a  box  and  it  made 
far-off    things    seem    near  —  but    blurred    sometimes. 


KING-ERRANT  77 

Still  had  I  it,   I  could  mayhap  see  the  Green-Palace. 
It  stands  high  above  the  town." 

Dearest-One,  her  hands  clasped  idly  over  her  knees 
as  she  sat  on  a  little  peak  of  rock  and  ice  that  rose 
out  of  the  flowers,  was  silent  for  a  space ;  then  she  said 
dreamily : 

"  'Twas  in  the  Green-Palace,  was  it  not,  where  King- 
ship comes  and  goes,  that  Baisanghar  was  to  die  that 
time  he  escaped  ?  " 

Babar  hesitated.  It  was  the  first  time  his  sister  had 
mentioned  her  cousin's  name  to  him;  but  now  that  the 
subject  had  been  broached,  might  it  not  be  better  to  take 
the  opportunity  offered?  He  had  the  portrait  with 
him.  Why  not  have  it  out  and  have  done  with  it? 
After  all  it  was  a  fitting  place;  the  green  alp  all 
starred  with  flowers  reminded  him  of  the  Andijan  mead- 
ows and  they  of  the  green  enamel  frame  starred  with 
ruby,  turquoise,  amethyst,  topaz. 

"  I  have  something  here,"  he  said,  fumbling  in  his 
fur  coat,  "that  I  have  meant  to  give  thee  for  some 
months ;  but  —  I  know  not  why  — ''  So  he  began  halt- 
ingly; then  warming  to  his  subject  told  her  in  his  own 
inimitable  way,  every  tiny  touch  giving  life  to  the  pic- 
ture, how  and  where  he  had  found  what  he  finally 
placed  in  her  hands. 

The  girl  who  had  listened  coldly  looked  at  it  still 
more  chillily. 

"  Twas  not  meant  for  me,"  she  said  at  last,  and  her 
tone  was  as  ice  — "  And  he  prized  it  little,  since  he  left 
it  behind  him." 

Babar  with  the  returned  miniature  in  his  hand,  stared 
at  her  in  confused  amaze,  feeling  that,  of  a  truth, 
women  were  kittle  cattle.  One  could  never  count  on 
them  —  and  all  these  months  he  had  been  afraid  of 
exciting  a  storm  of  tears! 


78  KING-ERRANT 

Distinct  ill-usage  was  in  his  voice  as  he  said  gravely: 
*'  But  thou  hast  not  seen  the  verses  writ  behind,  and 
they  are  good.  I  stake  my  word  they  are  excellent 
and  correct  in  every  elision,  every  poetic  licence/' 

It  may  have  been  the  bathos  in  the  lad's  last  eager 
protest  which  kept  the  pathos  of  poor  Baisanghar's 
words  from  making  full  mark,  which  kept  the  girl's 
lips  from  quivering  overmuch,  which  kept  the  mist  of 
tears  from  overflowing  to  her  cheeks  as  the  words  fell 
on  the  flower-scented  air.  So  little,  to  frail  humanity, 
turns  grief  to  laughter  and  smiles  to  tears. 

Anyhow  Dearest-One  sat  silent ,  and  a  faint  smile 
curved  her  thin  red  lips. 

"Yea!"  she  said  softly,  *^  they  are  good  verses;  but 
he  was  ever  a  poet.'' 

And  then  suddenly  the  poetry  which  lies  hid  at  the 
heart  of  all  sorrow,  all  longing,  all  deprivation,  surged 
on  her  and  her  face  lit  up  with  passionate  feeling. 
"  Give  it  me  back,  brotherling !  give  it  me  back.  Let  us 
leave  it  here!  Here!  on  this  high  unknown  place 
among  God's  flowers!  Here!  amid  ice  and  snow! 
Here !  overlooking  the  Palace  where  he  would  have 
died.  Here!  close  to  high  heaven  where  there  is  under- 
standing ! ''  Her  voice  had  risen  as  her  thought  rose, 
and  now  rang  out  joyous,  triumphant.  "Lo!  the  Heft- 
Aurang  will  look  down  on  my  face  night  after  night 
and  the  pole  star  will  point  the  way  to  him.  •  .  . 
Ah !  Baisanghar !  have  patience,  have  patience !  love  will 
point  the  way!     .     .     ." 

She  laid  the  portrait  face  upwards  to  the  clear  blue 
sunshiny  sky  on  a  cold  slab  of  ice  that  filled  up  —  and 
looked  as  if  it  had  filled  up  for  centuries  of  chill  sum- 
mers and  frost-bound  winters  —  the  wide  clefts  of  the 
rock  beside  her;  then  stood  up  and  stepped  down  amid 
the  flowers,  tearless,  radiant 


KING-ERRANT  79 

"  Come,  brother ! "  she  said.  "  It  grows  late.  Let 
us  descend,  they  will  be  waiting." 

But  Babar  looked  meditatively  at  the  pictured  face, 
and  then  at  the  one  before  him  transfigured  by  emotion. 

**  So  that  is  love !  "  he  said  at  last  with  a  curious  im- 
personality in  his  tone.  "  Truly  it  is  wonderful ;  and 
after  all  there  is  not  so  much  difference  between  it  and 
tears ! " 

So  in  a  flood,  came  back  to  him  that  one  glimpse  he 
had  had  in  the  Crystal  Bowl  of  his  cousin's  face.  He 
saw  it  again  clearly;  he  seemed  to  hear  his  voice  telling 
of  the  frightened  maiden.  He  had  never  thought  of 
her  since;  such  things  passed  quickly  from  his  boyish 
mind.  But  now  the  wonder  came  as  to  whether  he 
zvould  ever  meet  her.  He  might,  without  recognising 
her,  since  he  did  not  know  who  she  was. 

But  Dearest-One  might  know;  such  things  were  part 
and  parcel  of  the  woman's  life.  His  sister,  however, 
was  already  half  way  down  the  slope  and  he  had  to  run 
to  overtake  her. 

"  Do  I  know  ? "  she  echoed  to  his  question,  quite 
calmly,  having  had  time  to  recover  her  serenity. 
"  Wherefore  not  ?  Such  knowledges  have  to  be  kept 
by  someone;  so  we  women  guard  it.  She  whom  Mirza 
Gharib-Beg  deserted — "  she  spoke  with  distinct  blame 
— "  was  well  within  the  circle  of  distinction,  being  both 
of  the  royal  house  and  also  of  the  lineage  of  Sheik 
Jami,  the  divine  poet  —  on  whom  be  peace!  Therefore 
she  deserved  a  better  fate  than  to  live  her  life  in  a 
House-of-Rest  —  as  I  shall  live  mine,"  she  added  with 
conviction. 

"  But  thou  art  so  young,"  protested  Babar,  ever  ready 
to  follow  any  new  lead  of  thought. 

Dearest-One  flashed  out  on  him  in  her  old  way. 
"  Young !     One  year  older  than  she  —  so  there !     She 


80  KING-ERRANT 

was  but  a  child,  and  Gharib-Beg,  remember,  was  but 
two  years  older."  She  paused,  then  added  hurriedly: 
"Did  I  not  tell  thee  we  silly  women  guarded  such  triv- 
ial knowledge  as  our  lives  ?  " 

To  judge  by  Babar's  women-folk  (one  of  his  many 
widowed  aunts  had  joined  the  little  camp  on  a  visit — • 
he  had  endless  aunts  and  he  seemed  to  be  a  favourite 
with  all — )  they  guarded  other  trivial  knowledges  as 
their  lives  also.  Babar  returning  home  of  an  evening 
would  find  a  regular  Turkhi  feast  including  goats'  milk 
cheese  fritters,  made,  of  course,  after  the  family  recipe, 
spread  out  for  his  delectation,  and  Dearest-One  never 
forgot  to  put  violet  essence  in  the  thick  milk.  And 
plenty  of  sugar,  for  the  lad  had  a  sweet  tooth.  Then 
as  they  sat  round  the  great,  pine-log  fire  at  night, 
Isan-daulet  would  call  for  a  song;  none  of  those  nig- 
gling Persian  odes,  about  the  Beloved's  Eyebrows  and 
a  Cup  of  Wine  —  the  which  was  forbidden,  though 
many  good  men  fell  away  from  grace  and  were  none 
the  worse  for  it  —  not  in  this  world  at  any  rate,  and 
for  the  next  who  could  tell  since  the  dear  Kazi  was  not 
there  to  lay  down  the  law     .     .     . 

"  The  Kazi  was  a  saint,"  interrupted  Babar  with  cer- 
tainty ;  "  I  know  it ;  first  because  the  men  who  martyred 
him  have  all  since  died.  That  is  one  proof.  Then  he 
was  a  wonderfully  bold  man.  Most  men  have  some 
anxiety  or  trepidation  about  them.  The  Kwaja  had 
not  a  particle  of  either,  which  is  also  no  mean  proof  of 
sanctity." 

Old  Isan-daulet  chuckled.  "  Then  are  all  my  family 
canonised,"  she  said,  "  and  Paradise  will  have  small 
peace !  But  sing,  boy,  a  rattling  Turkhoman  ballad  and 
bawl  it  fairly,  if  thou  canst,  now-a-days." 

But  Babar  had  learnt  better  than  bawling  over  in 
Uncle   Hussain's   camp,   and   though   his   grandmother 


KING-ERRANT  81 

shook  her  head  over  his  rendering  of  "  Toktamish 
Khan"  still  'twas  a  fine  song  with  a  good  stirring 
chant  to  it: 

The  pale  white  willows  grow  in  the  sand, 
Toktamish  Beg. 

Choose  one  to   hobble   thy   horse's   leg 
That  thy  bay  steed  stand. 

Thy  red  blood  drips  on  the  yellow  sand, 
Toktamish   Khan. 

Wilt  bind  his  wound,  wife  of  Mirza  Jan 
With  thy  jewelled  hand? 

The  wound  is  doleful,  the  kiss  was  sweet 
Toktamish  Kull. 

Which  poison,  man !  makes  thine  eyes  so  dull 
And  thy  breath  so  fleet? 

Oh !  my  bay  horse  neighed  when  I  did  sing. 
And  Mir  Jan's  wife 
Swore  she  would  love  me  all  my  life 
And  gave  me  a  ring. 

Thy  steed  will  find  him  a  rider  soon 
And  fair  Narghiss 

Will  have  a  new  lover  to  cuddle  and  kiss 
Ere  another  moon. 

But  thy  mother  is  old;  she  has  lost  her  brave 
Toktamish  Khan; 

Let  her  carry  her  sheaf  to  Death's  wide  barn 
And  dig  her  a  grave! 

The  firelight  danced  on  the  young  face  as  it  sang 
cheerily.  The  Khanum,  his  mother,  wept  unobtrusively 
at  the  thought  of  what  she  would  do  if  her  young  brave 
were  to  die.     Old  Isan-daulet  beat  time  with  precision; 


82  KING-ERRANT 

Dearest-One    smiled    gently ;    but    Nevian-Gokultash  — 
the   Heart-of- Stone  —  held   up  his   finger. 

''  Hist !  "  he  said,  ''  a  horse's  steps/' 

Not  one  but  many.  A  little  detachment  of  loyalists 
headed  by  Kasim  Beg,  arriving  in  hot  haste  with  re- 
newed hope! 

Babar  stood  up  tall^  strong,  and  threw  his  wide  arms 
out  as  if  to  shake  off  inaction. 

"  Whence  ?  "  he  asked  briefly ;  "  East,  west,  north  or 
south  ? "  There  was  weariness  in  the  thought,  not  in 
the  tone.  He  was  ready  to  fight  anywhere  for  King- 
ship again,  though  his  heart  sank  at  the  futility  of  it  all. 
Bokhara,  Samarkand,  Hissar,  and  half-a-dozen  other 
chief-ships  always  changing  hands.  But  this,  a  mes- 
sage of  treaty  from  AH  Mirza  who  had  held  Samar- 
kand since  it  had  dropped  from  Babar's  hand  might 
mean  something.  So  he  was  in  the  saddle  and  off ;  only 
to  return  then,  and  half-a-dozen  other  times,  despond- 
ent, to  admit  that  his  star  was  not  yet  in  the  ascend- 
ant. 

Isan-daulet  wearied  of  waiting  at  last,  and  set  off 
herself  to  Moghulistan  to  levy  troops  to  aid  her  grand- 
son in  the  name  of  her  dead  husband.  The  Khanum 
went  with  her,  and  Dearest-One  took  the  opportunity 
of  retiring  with  one  of  her  old  aunts,  to  a  House-of- 
Rest.  So  Babar  was  left  alone.  He  would  not  re- 
main at  Khojend,  however;  he  felt  that  he  had  already 
taken  too  much  from  the  loyalists  there,  so  in  a  state 
of  irresolution  and  uncertainty  he  made  for  the  border 
land  of  the  Pamirs  beyond  the  White  Mountains. 
There  he  remained  amongst  the  nomad  tribes,  per- 
plexed and  distracted  with  the  hopelessness  of  his  af- 
fairs. 

And  here,  as  winter  passed  to  spring  once  more,  a 
saintly  Kwaja — ^also  an  exile  and  a  wanderer — came  to 


KING-ERRANT  83 

visit  him.  And  having  no  help  to  give,  no  advice  to 
offer  to  one  so  down-cast,  prayed  over  him  and  took 
his  departure  much  affected. 

"And  so  was  I/'  writes  Babar  frankly.  Doubtless 
he  was;  and  yet  before  sunset  that  very  day  he  must 
have  been  out  on  the  hillside,  possibly  hunting  for  new 
tulips  in  this  new  country;  for  he  descried  a  horseman 
making  his  way  rapidly  up  the  valley. 

A  horseman! 

Within  half-an-hour,  without  an  instant's  delay, 
Babar  had  backed  his  lean  Turkhoman  mare  and,  fol- 
lowed by  a  leaner  troop  of  such  friends  as  still  clung 
to  him  (Kasim  and  Nevian-Gokultash  of  course 
amongst  the  number)  was  galloping  for  Marghinan  (the 
place  where  they  remove  the  stone  from  apricots  and 
put  in  chopped  almonds!).  For  a  message  had  been 
sent  by  the  governor  of  the  town  to  say  he  was  ready 
to  give  it  up  to  its  rightful  owner,  and  would  hope  for 
forgiveness  for  past  offences. 

It  was  then  sunset,  and  Marghinan  lay  more  than  a 
hundred  miles  away  as  the  crow  flies.  All  that  night 
till  noon  next  day  the  little  band  rode  fiercely  on.  On 
those  wild  hills  there  was  no  road  to  speak  of;  one 
could  but  follow  the  water-courses  as  the  streams 
sought  their  level.  At  noon  next  day  they  drew  bridle 
for  the  first  time.  They  had  not  come  far,  or  fast, 
yet  so  hard  had  been  the  way  that  their  horses  needed 
rest.  Twelve  hours  to  give  them  a  chance,  and  also,  in 
the  close  valley  of  Khojend  to  secure  night  time  for 
the  first  part  of  the  march,  and  they  were  off  again; 
this  time  to  let  sunrise  pass  to  sunset  and  sunset  pass 
to  night  before  they  again  drew  rein  in  the  grey  dawn. 
Drew  rein  and  looked  at  each  other  doubtfully.  Yet 
their  goal  lay  not  four  miles  ahead  of  them,  a  shadowy 
hill  crowned  by  a  fort  and  scarce  seen  in  the  half  light. 


84  KING-ERRANT 

But  the  doubt  was  this: 

They  had  ridden  for  forty-eight  hours  up  hill  and 
down  dale,  over  breakneck  precipices  and  roaring  tor- 
rents, without  ever  considering  that  they  had  no  real 
warranty  for  so  doing! 

The  Governor  of  the  town  was  one  who  was  known 
to  stickle  at  no  crime.  With  what  confidence  then  could 
they  unconditionally  put  themselves  in  his  power? 

So  at  least  urged  Nevian-Gokultash.  Others  joined 
in,  and  Babar,  ever  reasonable,  saw  cogency  in  the 
doubt,  and  ordered  a  halt  for  consideration. 

Out  in  the  dawn,  the  horses,  heads  down,  taking  a 
nibble  of  grass  between  heaving  breaths,  the  sweat  run- 
ning down  from  their  polished  backs,  the  tired  troopers, 
too  tired  to  dismount,  arguing  pros  and  cons  wearily, 
until  Babar  rising  in  his  stirrups,  showed  tall,  straight, 
strong,  commanding. 

"  Gentlemen !  "  he  said.  "  Our  reflections  are  not  with- 
out foundation,  but  we  have  been  too  late  in  making 
them.  We  have  now  ridden  three  nights  and  two  days 
without  sleep  or  rest.  Neither  horse  nor  man  has 
strength  left.  There  is  no  possibility  of  retreating,  since 
there  is  no  place  of  safety  to  which  we  could  retreat. 
Having  come  so  far  we  must  proceed.  Therefore  let 
us  go  forward  remembering  that  nothing  happens  save 
by  the  will  of  God.  Right  turn,  gentlemen!  For- 
ward!" 

And  forward  it  proved  to  be  from  that  moment. 
Marghinan  his,  the  country  people,  disgusted  with  the 
late  usurpers,  crowded  round  their  old  young  King. 

Of  course  Grandmother  Isan-daulet  was  in  at  the 
finish  with  her  horde  of  two  thousand  wild  Moghul 
horsemen;  who  nevertheless  did  good,  if  barbarous, 
service  at  Akshi,  where  treachery  met  with  its  just  re- 
ward.    For  the  Moghuls,  stripping  their  horses^  rode 


KING-ERRANT  85 

barebacked  into  the  stream  and  sabred  the  escaping 
traitors  in  their  boats. 

So  the  peach  trees  had  not  shed  their  blossoms  be- 
fore, by  the  Grace  of  the  most  High  (and  many  real 
fine  fights)  Babar  recovered  his  paternal  kingdom,  of 
which  he  had  been  deprived  for  two  years. 

Two  years! 

He  could  hardly  believe  it  as  he  rode  through  on  the 
mantle  of  lambskins  between  the  fort  of  Andijan  and 
the  river,  where  not  so  long  ago  he  had  been  playing 
leap-frog  when  first  King-ship  came  to  him. 

*'  Nevian-Gokultash !  "  he  cried  suddenly,  "  an  thou 
lovest  me!  off  from  thy  horse  and  give  me  a  back  like 
a  kind  soul.     I  must  leap  to  my  kingdom  once  more ! " 

He  stood  there  laughing,  the  embodiment  of  boyish 
youth  and  energy;  forgetful  of  past  troubles,  eager  to 
enjoy  life. 

'*  Ul-la-la ! "  shouted  some  of  the  nobles  catching  the 
spirit  of  the  thing  and  throwing  themselves  from  their 
horses. 

So  leap  Babar  did,  not  over  Nevian  only,  but  over 
half-a-score  or  more  of  the  friends  of  his  adversity  in- 
cluding Kasim  who  nearly  tumbled  over  with  laughter 
and  joy. 

And  the  young  King,  as  he  once  more  cast  himself 
face  upwards  on  the  soft  furry  little  blobs  of  blossom 
amid  a  chorus  of  applause,  felt  that  the  whole  world 
was  splendid  indeed. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Blessed  is  he  who  has  not  to  learn 

How   the   favour  of  fortune   may  change   and   turn, 

Whose  head  is  not  raised  in  his  high  estate 

Nor  his  heart  in  misfortune  made  desolate. 

Nisdmi. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  talking/'  quoth  Isan-daulet 
decisively.  **  Send  the  trays  to  Ayesha  Begum,  my 
daughter,  and  prepare  the  wedding  comestibles.  It  has 
been  high  time,  these  two  years  back,  that  Zahir-ud- 
din  Mahomed  got  himself  married,  but  of  a  truth  there 
was  not  the  wherewithal.  One  cannot  marry  out  of  a 
basket.  But  now  all  is  smooth,  so  send  for  the  bride. 
God  grant  she  be  not  so  unwilling  as  the  groom.'' 

And  in  truth  Babar,  seated  on  the  floor,  of  course, 
between  his  grandmother  and  his  mother,  looked  far 
from  happy.  His  hands  lean,  supple,  strong,  hung  over 
his  grasshopper  knees,  and  his  head — small  for  the  rest 
of  his  body  —  had  not  its-  usual  frank  bearing. 

"  I  am  not  unwilling,"  protested  the  young  man ; 
"  Lo !  it  has  to  be  done,  that  I  know.  'Tis  the  duty  of 
Kings  to  marry  and  have  sons;  but,  see  you,  I  have  no 
experience  at  all;  indeed  I  have  never  been  so  circum- 
stanced as  either  to  hear  or  witness  any  words  express- 
ive of  the  amorous  passion,  and  I  have  never  seen  my 
betrothed  since  I  was  five." 

"God  forbid!"  ejaculated  the  Khanum  piously. 

"  But  how  then  can  I  love  her  ? "  protested  Babar ; 
"'tis  not  like  Dearest-One  and  Cousin  Baisanghar — " 

A  shriek  of  outrage  drowned  what  he  would  have 

86 


KING-ERRANT  87 

said.  Not  that  either  of  the  two  good  ladies  really  felt 
shocked,  but  that  in  dealing  with  Babar  they  held  it 
wiser  to  adhere  to  the  strictly  conventional;  otherwise, 
heaven  only  knew  if  he  would  not  go  off  at  a  tangent 
as  Dearest-One  had  done.  Poor  Dearest-One  on  whom 
the  blow  of  uttermost  fate  had  fallen  at  last.  For  a 
terrible  tale  had  come  to  Andijan  but  a  month  before, 
snuffing  out  the  lamps  of  festival  like  a  dust-storm  at 
a  wedding.  For  who  could  rejoice  when  they  thought 
of  a  poor  young  prince  who  was  nobody's  enemy  but 
his  own,  like  Baisanghar,  strangled  with  a  bowstring  by 
the  orders  of  the  miserable  and  infidel-like  wretch, 
worthless,  contemptible,  without  birth  or  talents,  repu- 
tation or  wisdom,  Khosrau  Shah?  Babar  had  been  be- 
side himself  with  rage,  and  had  expended  every  known 
epithet  on  the  murderer,  who  though  he  prayed  regu- 
larly, was  black-hearted  and  vicious,  of  mean  under- 
standing, slender  talents,  faithless  and  a  traitor.  A  man 
who  for  the  sake  of  the  short  and  fleeting  pomp  of  this 
vain  world  had  done  to  death  the  sweetest  prince,  the 
son  of  his  old  benefactor,  in  whose  service  he  had 
been  and  by  whom  he  had  been  patronised  and  pro- 
tected. Thus  rendering  himself  accursed  of  God,  ab- 
horred of  men,  and  worthy  of  shame  and  execration  till 
the  judgment  day.  Perpetrating  his  crimes  too  for  the 
sake  of  trivial  enjoyment,  and,  despite  his  power  and 
place,  not  having  the  spirit  to  face  a  barn-door  chicken ! 

The  young  man  had  poured  all  this  and  much  more 
into  his  sister's  ears,  hoping  to  comfort  her,  but  she  had 
only  turned  her  face  to  the  wall,  and  wept. 

Strange,  indeed,  were  women-folk;  she  had  been  so 
composed  when  she  herself  renounced  him,  but  now 
that  Death  had  stepped  in  she  was  all  tears. 

The  thought  of  her  weeping  brought  him  a  quick  ex- 
cuse.    "Anyhow/*    he    remarked,    with    evident    relief, 


88  KING-ERRANT 

'* there  can  be  no  weddings  yet  awhile;  my  sister  is  not 
in  condition  for  festivals/' 

Isan-daulet  sniffed.  '"  Sisters  are  not  indispensables 
to  a  marriage.  So  be  good  boy,  Babar,  and  listen  to 
reason.     Do  I  not  ever  advise  thee  to  thy  benefit  ?  " 

"  Not  ever,"  retorted  the  young  King  sulkily ;  "  thou 
did'st  advise  me  to  set  my  promise  aside  and  let  thy 
cursed  Moghuls  and  others  plunder  those  I  had  sworn 
to  protect." 

"  Not  plunder,  boy ! "  replied  the  old  lady  shrilly, 
"  but  to  resume  their  own  property." 

"  I  care  not,"  said  Babar  sternly,  and  rising  to  go ; 
"  I  say  I  was  wrong  to  yield.  'Twas  senseless,  to  be- 
gin with,  to  exasperate  so  many  men  with  arms  in  their 
hands.  And  then  —  Lo !  grandam  —  I  was  precipitate, 
and  in  affairs  of  state  many  things  that  appear  reason- 
able at  first  sight  require  to  be  well  weighed  and  con- 
sidered in  a  hundred  different  lights  ere  orders  are 
given.     I  shall  have  trouble  over  that  yet." 

He  stalked  away  in  dignified  fashion,  and  his  mother 
sighed.  "  He  grows  a  man,  indeed.  Tis  time  he  mar- 
ried ;  but  I  wonder  will  she  be  good  daughter  to  me  ?  " 

"  She  will  be  good  granddaughter  to  me,  that  I'll  war- 
rant me,"  retorted  Isan-daulet  viciously.  She  would 
stand  no  nonsense  from  young  chits. 

So  the  marriage  went  on,  and  Babar  performed  his 
part  of  it  with  grave  politeness  and  propriety.  He  wore 
his  wedding  garments  with  a  difference,  and  when  he 
sat  beside  his  bride  for  the  first  time,  holding  her  hand 
and  repeating  the  words  after  the  officiating  Kazi  he 
felt  quite  a  thrill.  In  fact  he  would  like  to  have 
squeezed  the  little  hand  he  held,  only  it  was  so  cov- 
ered with  rings  and  gew-gaws  that  he  was  afraid  of 
hurting  it.  Altogether  the  fateful  she  looked  rather 
small;  but   distinctly   fetching  —  though   of  course  he 


KING-ERRANT  89 

could  not  see  her  face,  in  her  veil  of  jasmine  blossoms. 
They  smelt,  however,  rather  sickly. 

That  was  in  fact  all  that  he  vouchsafed  to  Dearest- 
One  who,  late  in  the  evening,  slipped  in,  dressed  in 
white  from  head  to  foot,  to  wish  her  darling  brother 
happiness. 

''  I  would  she  smelt  of  violets  instead,"  he  said 
thoughtfully;  "dost  think,  Dearest-One,  it  could  have 
been  the  jasmine  perfume  and  not  the  sweets  that  made 
me  sick  when  I  was  five  ?  " 

And  Dearest-One  laughed;  a  laugh  with  a  sob  in  it, 
and  said  to  her  mother  ere  she  returned  to  her  House- 
of-Rest : 

"  He  is  not  fond  of  her,  see  you  ?  " 

"  God  forbid !  "  snapped  Isan-daulet  tartly.  "  Lo !  he 
will  love  her  when  she  is  the  mother  of  his  son." 

And  Dearest-One  was  silent;  that  might  be;  though 
she  doubted  it.  But  for  the  present  she  was  right. 
Babar  was  not  in  love;  what  is  more  he  was  shy. 

The  Khanum,  his  mother,  who  found  her  town-bred, 
mincing  and  thoroughly  amiable  daughter-in-law  quite 
an  amusing  distraction,  began  by  rallying  him  on  his 
bashfulness;  but  as  the  first  period  of  his  married  life 
went  on,  bringing  a  decrease  of  such  affection  as  he 
had  had,  and  a  corresponding  increase  of  shyness, 
raillery  turned  to  tears,  then  to  anger,  until  the  gentle 
lady,  outraged  by  her  son's  behaviour,  would  scold  him 
with  great  fury  and  send  him  off  like  a  criminal  to  visit 
his  wife. 

Babar  had,  however,  some  excuse  for  his  lack  of  in- 
terest. Marriage  had  come  to  him  in  the  very  moment 
when  he  needed  all  his  vitality  to  keep  his  newly-recov- 
ered throne.  What  he  had  said  to  his  grandmother 
concerning  his  overprecipitate  permission  for  modified 
plunder  had  been  true.     The  inconsiderate  order,  issued 


90  KING-ERRANT 

without  sufficient  foresight  had  caused  commotions  and 
mutinies. 

The  Moghuls,  still  dissatisfied,  had  marched  off  in  a 
huff;  good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish,  as  Babar  said, 
though  he  chafed  inwardly  at  not  having  been  able  to 
control  them  amicably.  Still  the  Moghul  Horde  had 
ever  been  the  authors  of  every  kind  of  mischief  and 
devastation.  Five  separate  times  had  they  mutinied 
against  him;  and  not  only  against  him  —  that  might 
have  pointed  to  incompatibility  of  temper  on  his  part  — 
but  against  every  one  in  authority,  especially  their  own 
Khans. 

It  was  in  the  breed.    True  was  the  verse : 

"If  the  Moghul  race  had  an  angel's  birth 
It  still  would  be  made  of  the  basest  earth; 
Were  the  Moghul  name  writ  in  thrice-fired  gold 
'Twould  be  worth  no  more  than  steel,  wrought  cold. 
From  a  Moghul's  harvest  sow  never  a  seed, 
For  the  germ  of  a  Moghul  is  false  indeed." 

Thank  God!  he  was  no  Moghul;  he  was  Turkhoman 
born  and  bred! 

Before  winter  came  on,  indeed,  the  position  of  affairs 
had  become  critical.  Half  the  nobles  had  sided  with 
young  Jahangir  who  still  claimed  the  throne,  and  fight- 
ing was  general  all  over  the  valley  of  Ferghana.  To 
shut  himself  up  in  the  town  of  Andijan  for  the  winter 
months  would  only  be  to  leave  the  enemy  free  to  ravage 
the  country  outside.  He  therefore  chose  a  spot  on  the 
skirts  of  the  hills  and  cantooned  his  army  there.  A 
pleasant  spot  with  good  cover  for  game!  An  excellent 
sporting  ground,  in  fact,  containing  plenty  of  mountain 
goats,  antlered  stags,  and  wild  hogs.  In  the  smaller 
jungle,  too,  were  excellent  jungle  fowl  and  hares. 

Then,  when  such  sport  palled,  there  were  always  the 


KING-ERRANT  91 

foxes,  which  possessed  more  fleetness  than  those  of  any 
other  place.  Babar  rode  a-hunting  every  two  or  three 
days  while  he  remained  in  those  winter  quarters,  and 
regaled  himself  on  the  jungle  fowl,  which  were  very 
fat.  Keeping  an  eye  all  the  time,  however,  on  the  en- 
emy's movements,  and  guarding  Andijan,  where  the 
Khanum  and  old  Isan-daulet  appeared  to  have  forgot- 
ten wars  and  war's  alarms  in  something  more  cognate 
to  their  woman's  hearts;  something  that  was  almost  too 
delightful  to  be  true. 

Babar,  when  he  first  heard  of  the  delightful  prospect, 
was  all  that  could  be  desired.  Affectionate,  overjoyed, 
proud.  What  else  could  he  be  when  his  mother  hung 
round  his  neck  hysterically,  and  even  Dearest-One's 
pale  cheeks  flushed  at  the  future. 

"  He  shall  be  my  son  as  well  as  yours,  brotherling," 
she  said.  "  Lo !  I  will  be  his  best-beloved  aunt.  So 
that  settles  it,  and  all  silly  women's  talk  about  my  mar- 
rying somebody  —  does  it  not,  O  King !  " 

And  Babar,  as  he  sat  holding  his  sister's  hand  as  in 
the  old  days,  saw  a  vista  of  happiness  before  him.  It 
would  be  delightful.  Imagine  having  a  son  of  his  very 
own!  Ayesha  Begum  could  not  complain  of  his  cold- 
ness on  that  visit,  and  he  returned  to  his  camp  jubi- 
lant. 

But  the  knowledge  of  what  was  to  come,  made  him 
restless.  Of  what  use  was  an  heir,  unless  he  was  heir 
to  something  tangible?  Ferghana,  divided  against  it- 
self, was  no  permanent  position  for  either  claimant. 

But  what  of  Samarkand?  There,  his  cousin  All 
(who  had  no  claim)  had  just  beaten  Weis,  his  younger 
brother  who  had  a  claim,  doubtless,  through  his  mother : 
but  after  his,  Babar's,  since  she  was  the  younger 
daughter. 

He  sat  on  the  snowy  slopes  waiting  for  bara-singha. 


92  KING-ERRANT 

or  bear,  and  ciphered  it  out ;  he  came  back  to  camp  and 
talked  it  over  with  Kasim  and  the  nobles. 

"  Praise  be  to  God ! ''  said  the  old  swashbuckler,  "  we 
may  see  some  fine  fighting  once  again." 

They  were  to  see  more  than  they  had  bargained  for; 
since,  when  with  the  advancing  spring  Babar  and  his 
army  arrived  before  Samarkand  it  was  to  find  that 
they  were  pitted,  not  against  the  weakling  Ali  and  his 
half-hearted  troops,  but  against  the  great  Usbek  raider, 
Shaibani  Khan,  who,  God  knows  why  or  wherefore,  had 
attacked  Bokhara,  taken  it,  marched  on  to  Samarkand, 
taken  it  by  the  treachery  of  a  woman,  and  was  now 
there  in  undisputed  possession.  Babar  felt  that  to  attack 
the  position  overtly  with  his  small  force  was  madness. 
But  what  of  a  surprise?  The  Usbek  horde  were  stran- 
gers. Babar  himself  had  been  beloved,  during  his  short 
reign  of  a  hundred  days.  If  once  he  could  find  himself 
within  the  walls,  the  people  of  Samarkand  might  de- 
clare in  his  favour.  At  any  rate  they  would  not  fight 
for  the  Usbek.      That  was  certain. 

It  was  worth  a  trial.  But  those  who  were  to  attempt 
the  forlorn  hope  must  be  picked  men,  and  there  must 
be  no  attacking  force  before  the  city.  That  would  put 
the  garrison  on  the  alert. 

In  the  meantime  he  would  go  to  the  mountains;  one 
thought  clearer  in  high  places. 

Summer  was  nigh  on,  ere  preliminaries  were  settled, 
and  Babar  with  his  picked  band,  ready  for  swift  at- 
tempt, stood  on  the  heights  of  Yar-Ailak  once  more. 
Above  him,  unseen  in  the  darkness  of  the  moonless  night 
was  the  flower-carpeted  alp  where  Dearest-One's  face 
watched  the  stars  wheel.  The  Heft-Aurang,  the  seven 
thrones,  showed  in  ordered  array  on  the  purple  velvet 
of  the  night.  Was  one  of  them  kept  vacant  for  him, 
he  wondered,  or  had  Baisanghar's  poor  ghost  found  it? 


KING-ERRANT  93 

Babar's  mind  was  ever  full  of  such  whimsical  thoughts; 
they  came  to  him,  unasked,  making  his  outlook  on  life 
many-facetted,  many-hued,  like  the  iridescent  edge  which 
had  set  a  halo  round  all  things  in  the  Crystal  Bowl. 

The  future  seemed  thus  glorified  to  him  as  he  sat 
looking  out  over  the  unseen  city  in  the  valley  beyond. 

His  nobles,  his  comrades,  were  sitting  round  him, 
revelling  over  the  camp  fire;  holding  a  sort  of  sacra- 
mental feast  before  the  dangerous  surprise. 

"  Come !  "  cried  Babar,  turning,  a  light  on  his  face 
brighter  than  the  firelight ;  "  let  us  have  a  bet  on  when 
we  shall  take  Samarkand.  To-night,  to-morrow  or 
never ! " 

*'  To-night ! "  cried  Nevian-Gokultash  and  the  others 
followed  suit. 

Half-an-hour  afterwards  they  were  in  their  saddles, 
low-bowed  upon  their  peaks,  light  scaling  ladders  slung 
alongside,  riding  for  all  they  were  worth.  Now  or 
never!  The  time  was  ripe.  Shaibani  Khan  himself, 
lulled  in  security,  away  on  a  marauding  expedition,  the 
garrison  unalarmed,  confident. 

It  was  midnight  when  they  halted  in  the  Pleasure- 
ground  before  the  walls  of  Samarkand.  Here  Babar 
detached  eighty  of  his  best  men.  They  were,  if  pos- 
sible, to  scale  the  wall  noiselessly  by  the  Lovers'  Cave  — 
most  deserted  portion  of  the  fortifications, — make  their 
way  silently  to  the  Turquoise  Gate,  overpower  the 
guard  and  open  the  doors. 

Babar  himself,  with  the  remainder  of  his  men  was 
to  ride  up  to  the  Gate  and  be  ready  to  force  their  way 
in. 

How  still  the  night  was!  The  stars  how  bright! 
The  Seven  Thrones  wheeling  in  their  ordered  array  to 
the  dawn.  What  had  Fate  ordered  in  his  life?  Babar, 
waiting,  his  hand  gripped  on  his  sword-hilt  in  the  dark 


94  KING-ERRANT 

way  of  the  Gate,  listened  eagerly  for  a  sound.  The 
horses'  hoofs,  deadened  by  enswathing  felt,  had  made 
no  sound,  the  very  chink  of  steel  on  steel  had  not  been 
heard.    All  was  silent  as  the  grave. 

What  did  Fate  hold  in  store?  Hark,  a  sentry's  sleepy 
call:  "What  of  the  hour  of  the  night?" 

What,  indeed? 

Then  in  one  second,  tumult,  uproar,  a  clashing  of 
sword  on  sword. 

"  The  Gate !    Open  the  Gate !  "  shouted  Babar. 

A  swift  bombardment  of  dull  blows  —  stones,  any- 
thing on  iron  bolts  and  bars.  A  shiver,  a  sudden 
yielding,  and  the  wide  doors  swung  open. 

An  instant  after  Babar  was  through  the  gateway, 
King  of  Samarkand.  He  knew  it,  even  as  he  galloped 
on  through  the  sleeping  streets  to  the  citadel.  A  drowsy 
shopkeeper  or  two,  roused  by  the  clatter,  looked  out 
from  the  shops  apprehensively,  then  offered  up  prayers 
of  thanksgiving.  So,  by  ones  and  twos,  the  city  woke 
to  relief  and  gratitude.  By  dawn  the  hunted  Usbeks 
had  disappeared ;  dead  or  fled.  And  the  chief  people  of 
the  town,  bringing  such  offerings  of  food  ready  dressed 
as  they  had  at  hand  were  flocking  to  the  Great  Arched 
Hall  of  the  Palace,  to  do  homage  to  their  new  King, 
and  congratulate  him  on  his  success. 

Babar  received  them  with  his  usual  frank,  simple 
dignity.  For  nearly  a  hundred  and  forty  years,  he  said, 
Samarkand  had  been  the  capital  of  his  family.  A  for- 
eign robber,  none  knew  whence,  had  seized  the  king- 
dom unrighteously.  But  Almighty  God  had  now  re- 
stored it,  and  given  him  back  his  plundered  and  pil- 
laged country  which  he  would  proceed  to  put  in  order. 

He  did  it  to  his  heart's  content!  He  was  now  nine- 
teen, the  birth  of  his  son  was  nigh  at  hand,  and  all 
must  be  ready  for  the  expected  heir. 


KING-ERRANT  95 

So  the  next  month  or  two  passed  in  preparations  and 
congratulations.  Babar,  who  felt  the  strength  of  the 
pen  as  well  as  that  of  the  sword,  wrote  endless  letters 
to  the  neighbouring  princes  and  chiefs,  assuring  them 
of  his  favour,  and  requesting  like  return  from  them. 
These  he  despatched  duly  accredited  with  rose-scent  and 
gold-dust  and  brocaded  bags ;  but  not  so  many  jcame  back 
as  went  out. 

Moghulistan  was  slow  to  recognise  the  value  of 
peaceful  persuasion,  and  looked  askance  at  the  young 
general  who  could  surprise  so  wily  a  foe  as  Shaibani 
Khan  and  yet  think  it  worth  while  to  write  missives  like 
a  scrivener. 

But  one  letter  came  which  brought  the  young  King 
unmixed  delight ;  for  it  was  from  the  incomparable  Ali- 
Shir  at  Khorasan;  an  incomparable  letter  without  one 
word  astray ;  a  pure  pleasure  from  start  to  finish.  The 
young  King  answered  it  boldly:  even  daring  so  far  as 
to  write  a  Turkhi  couplet  of  his  own  composing  on  the 
outside  thereof;  a  Turkhi  couplet  that  was  not  half-bad; 
for  he  was  growing  to  be  a  man  in  mind  as  well  as 
body. 

So  all  things  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell.  His 
grandmother,  his  mother,  and  the  mother  of  his  ex- 
pected heir,  arrived  by  slow  marches  from  Andijan  and 
were  lodged  in  the  Birthplace  and  Deathplace  of 
Kings,  the  Green-Palace.  And  Dearest-One  came  too 
in  the  white  robes  of  a  sainted  canoness,  eager  to  take 
up  her  position  of  aunt-in-ordinary ;  a  position  of  honour 
with  the  Chagatai  family.  Babar  himself  had  half-a- 
dozen  or  so  such  Benificent-Ladies  ready  for  all  festivi- 
ties, all  condolences. 

So,  one  hot  night,  he  found  himself  looking  dis- 
tractedly at  the  moon  in  a  balcony  of  the  women's 
apartments. 


96  KING-ERRANT 

Hurrying  feet  and  whisperings  had  gone  on,  it  seemed 
to  him,  for  hours. 

But  these  feet  did  not  hurry;  they  lagged. 

"  A  daughter !  a  miserable  daughter !  "  said  his  mother's 
voice,  full  of  tears.  "  Lo !  I  wonder  Ayesha  could  think 
of  such  a  thing     ...     It  is  unpardonable." 

'*  Let  us  say  no  more/'  put  in  Isan-daulet.  "  When  a 
woman  disgraces  herself,  the  less  said  the  better.  We 
will  get  thee  a  more  dutiful  wife,  sonling." 

Even  Dearest-One's  face  was  downcast  utterly. 

"  A  daughter !  "  echoed  Babar  and  paused.  Then  he 
said  eagerly:  '*  May  I  not  see  it,  motherling?  —  Tis  my 
first  child,  anyhow." 

And  they  showed  it  him,  a  naked  new-born  baby 
wrapped  in  a  cotton  quilt. 

"  It  looks  old ;  as  if  it  had  been  born  a  long  time,"  he 
said  reflectively;  then  his  fine,  strong,  young  hand 
touched  the  tiny  crumpled  fingers  tentatively.  "  Lo ! 
they  are  like  little  worms,"  he  said  and  laughed  aloud 
suddenly,  a  gay  young  laugh.  ''  She  is  not  bad,  my 
daughter.     I  will  call  her  '  Glory  of  Women.' " 

And  almost  every  day  he  would  find  time  to  go  in 
to  the  women's  apartments  and  look  at  her. 

But,  after  a  month  or  forty  days,  the  little  Glory  of 
Womanhood  went  to  share  the  Mercy  of  God. 

She  was  his  first  child,  and  at  the  time  he  was  just 
nineteen. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  Moment's  Halt  —  a  momentary  taste 
Of  Being,  from  the  Well  amid  the  Waste, 
And  lo !  —  the  phantom  Caravan  has  reached 
The  Nothing  it  set  out  from. 

Omar  Khayyam. 

Fate  had  called  a  halt  in  Babar's  life.  A  court  had 
once  more  gathered  round  him,  and,  as  King  of  Samar- 
kand, a  city  of  colleges  and  culture,  this  was  of  differ- 
ent stamp  from  that  of  Andijan.  It  occupied  itself  with 
other  things  than  the  edge  of  a  sword-blade  or  the  merits 
of  a  polo-ball. 

"  Lo ! ''  said  Mulla  Binai  the  poet,  his  voice  lubricated 
with  artificial  adulation  to  extreme  oiliness,  "  I  have  at 
last  found  fitting  memorial  for  the  magnificent  victory 
of  the  King  in  these  poor  words: 

"  *  Tell  me,  my  soul,  the  conquering  day 
Fateh  Babar  Bahadur,'   I  say." 

The  horrid  doggerel,  with  its  inlay  of  numerical  let- 
ters  giving  the  date  of  Babar's  surprise  of  Samarkand, 
was  allowed  to  pass  muster  in  that  crowd  of  flattering 
courtiers. 

Only  Kasim  Beg,  bluff  as  he  had  been  from  the  be- 
ginning, said,  smartly: 

"  Good  enough,  if  so  be  'tis  accurate ;  but  of  that, 
thank  God,  I  know  naught;  for  whilst  thou  remember- 
est  fine  fights  by  dots  and  strokes,  I  keep  them  by  the 
dents  on  my  good  sword." 

The  old  noble  disliked  Binai;  he  disliked  all  poets  in 
general;  but  this  one  in  particular.     He  knew  nothing 


98  KING-ERRANT 

good  of  him  but  his  riposte  to  Ali-Shir  —  who  was 
worth  ten  of  him  since  he  had  at  least  been  born  a  Beg 
and  who,  before  he  was  bitten  by  the  mad  craze  for 
•jingling  words,  had  struck  a  good  few  shrewd  blows 
for  the  right.  Besides,  he  had  been  author  and  patron 
of  many  useful  inventions,  and  it  was  not  his  fault  if 
the  gilded  youth  of  Herat  named  every  new  fashion 
after  him,  and  when  he,  in  consequence  of  an  earache, 
bound  up  his  face  with  a  kerchief,  bound  up  theirs  also 
and  called  it  a  la  mode  Ali-Shir.  Still  Binai's  riposte  to 
the  sarcasms  which  had  driven  him  from  Herat  was  a 
good  joke.  To  order  a  ridiculous  pad  for  the  ass  he 
was  to  ride  and  call  it  the  Ali-Shir  pad!  The  recollec- 
tion of  it  always  made  good  old  Kasim  laugh  broadly. 
The  humour  of  it  suited  his  sturdy  outlook.  An 
outlook  that  was  disturbed  by  the  jingle-jangle  of 
words  and  wits  that  began  to  arise  about  his  young  mas- 
ter. It  was  all  very  well,  and  affairs  were  doubtless  in 
a  most  prosperous  state.  All  the  same  there  was  no 
counting  on  any  continuance  of  fine  weather  with  half- 
a-dozen  claimants  to  the  throne  and  Shaibani-Khan 
close  at  hand.  The  Usbek  raider  was  no  man  to  give 
in  because  of  one  reverse;  his  whole  life  was  war. 

So  Kasim  frowned  at  culture,  and  as  Prime-Minister 
looked  to  his  weapons. 

It  was  not  however  for  many  months  that  his  fear 
came  true  and  Shaibani,  reinforced,  appeared  again  on 
the  horizon  of  Babar's  world. 

But  when  he  did,  the  young  King  set  aside  everything 
else  and  buckled  on  his  sword  once  more  with  zest.  He 
had  been  studying  military  art  in  his  great  ancestor 
Timur's  memoirs,  and  was  eager  for  a  pitched  battle. 
No  sooner,  therefore,  did  Shaibani's  hordes  show  them- 
selves, than  the  young  general  marched  to  meet  them, 
and,  over-impatient,  precipitated  a  collision  before  his 


KING-ERRANT  99 

own  re-enforcements  of  over  five  thousand  men  had  time 
to  join  him. 

But  it  was  his  first  pitched  battle,  he  was  keen  as 
mustard,  and  had  planned  it  all  out  on  paper  beautifully 
on  strategical  lines. 

And  the  astronomers  were  to  the  fore  with  a  lucky 
conjunction  of  stars. 

So  the  right  and  left  wings  marched  out  in  orderly 
array,  and  wheeled  admirably  to  meet  the  first  attack 
of  their  flank.  But  somehow  this  separated  Babar  from 
his  staff  of  veterans,  who  possibly  did  not  believe  in  the 
virtue  of  disciplined  movements;  and  though  in  person 
he  led  a  dashing  and  impetuous  charge  of  his  centre 
on  the  foe,  which  drove  the  Usbeks  back  to  the  point 
of  rout,  Shaibani  would  not  accept  defeat.  He  stood 
firm,  despite  his  officers'  advice  to  withdraw  while  he 
could,  and  continued  the  wild  desert  tactics  of  repeated 
charges  on  the  enemy's  flank,  repeated  withdrawals  to 
wheel  and  reform. 

And  Babar's  army,  but  half-disciplined,  divided  by 
conflicting  ideals  became  hopelessly  confused.  His 
Moghul  troops,  refusing  to  obey  orders,  reverted  to  their 
old  habit  of  killing  and  plundering,  with  the  result  of 
rout  —  complete  absolute  rout. 

That  night  the  young  leader,  stern  and  calm,  despite 
the  ache  at  his  heart  for  his  own  broken  ideals  as  well 
as  for  the  loss  of  the  many  Begs  of  the  highest  rank, 
the  many  admirable  soldiers,  the  many  devoted  friends 
who  had  perished  in  the  action,  held  a  council  of  war 
in  the  citadel  as  to  what  had  best  be  done  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. Capitulation  on  terms,  or  unconditional 
defence  ? 

Belief  in  their  leader  and  the  devotion  of  the  Andi- 
jan  nobles  carried  the  day  against  the  more  lukewarm 
Samarkandis.     It  was  resolved  to  hold  the  citadel  to 


100  KING-ERRANT 

the  death,  to  the  very  last  drop  of  blood;  and  with 
vitality  renewed  by  the  need  for  immediate  action  Ba- 
bar  set  to  work  strengthening  the  fortifications.  Here 
at  any  rate  he  was  master;  bricks  and  earth  could  not 
disobey  orders;  they  must  remain  where  they  were  put. 

Yet  most  of  the  nobles  sent  away  their  wives  and 
families  secretly.  Babar's  mother  and  sister,  however, 
refused  to  leave  their  beloved  one  whose  fortunes  they 
had  followed  for  so  long  through  thick  and  thin. 
Grandmother  Isan-daulet,  also,  remained  of  course. 
Her  brave  old  heart  rather  gloried  in  the  thought  of  a 
siege,  and  with  all  the  hatred  of  a  desert-born  Chagatai, 
she  hated  the  Usbek  raider  who  had  dared  to  beat  her 
grandson. 

Though  on  that  point  she  and  Babar  had  many  words. 
He  reviling  her  Moghul  horde  as  the  cause  of  his 
failure;  she  asserting  it  to  be  his  cramping  conditions 
which  had  prevented  the  success  of  the  old  methods  of 
warfare  that  had  served  his  fathers  well  enough. 

As  for  Ayesha  Begum  she  had  long  since  retired 
in  a  huff  to  her  own  relations,  making  as  her  excuse  the 
plea  of  grief  for  the  death  of  the  little  Glory  of  Woman- 
hood. But  Babar  knew  better.  She  had  not  cared  at 
all.  Her  other  plea  that  he  did  not  love  her  was  more 
to  the  purpose.  Anyhow  it  was  as  well,  thought  the 
young  husband  grimly;  she  would  only  have  wept  and 
been  uncomfortable. 

For  discomfort  was  inevitable  even  from  the  very  be- 
ginning of  the  siege;  at  any  rate  for  the  men.  The 
nightly  round  of  the  ramparts  alone  entailed  lack  of 
proper  sleep,  since  but  a  small  portion  of  them  was 
ridable,  the  rest  had  to  be  done  on  foot.  And  so  long 
was  the  circuit  that,  starting  at  dusk,  it  was  dawn  before 
every  place  had  been  inspected.  Still,  even  with  the 
small  force  at  his  command,  Babar  kept  the  foe  at  bay, 


KING-ER.RANT  101 

though,  more  than  once  he  had  ^narrow'  squeak  of  itV 
Once  when  a  feint  attack  of  Shaibani's  on  the  Iron-Gate 
covered  a  daring  escalade  at  the  Needle-makers  Gate. 
An  escalade  that  was  all  but  successful.  Four  of  the 
attacking  party  were  actually  over  the  wall,  dozens  of 
others  were  swarming  up  it,  when  one  Kuch-Beg,  noble 
by  birth  and  by  nature,  caught  a  glimpse  of  someone 
where  someone  should  not  be.  To  draw  his  sword 
single-handed  as  he  was,  and  spring  to  the  attack  was 
the  work  of  an  instant.  It  was  an  exploit  for  ever  to 
be  cited  to  his  honour,  though  his  ringing  war-shout 
brought  three  more  heroes  to  his  aid.  Even  so,  there 
were  but  four  against  dozens;  but  furious  blows,  dare- 
devil recklessness  do  much,  and  almost  before  the  nod- 
ding guards  were  roused,  the  danger  was  over,  the  esca- 
laders  driven  back,  to  fall  a  confused  heap  of  ladders 
and  men  leaving  a  dead  body  or  two  on  the  ramparts. 

Then  Kasim  Beg  sallied  out  again  and  again  to  en- 
gage the  enemy's  pickets  and  returned,  bringing  heads 
to  set  on  pikes  upon  the  walls. 

For  war  was  war  in  those  days;  there  was  no  talk 
of  Red-Crosses  and  ambulance-wagons. 

And  yet  two  women  went  about  inside  the  fortress, 
bandaging  wounds  and  applying  simples.  For  the 
Khanum,  Babar's  mother,  could  not  bear  to  see  pain, 
and  though  old  Isan-daulet  sniffed  at  new  fangled  ways, 
asserting  that  men  could  but  die  once  and  that  it  was 
waste  of  time  to  tend  a  common  soldier  as  though  he 
were  a  noble,  she  came  of  a  fighting  tribe  and  could  give 
many  an  inherited  recipe  for  the  healing  of  cuts,  the  pre- 
vention of  wound  fever.  Then  Dearest-One  despite  her 
youth,  had  a  claim,  as  one  who  had  renounced  the 
world  to  freedom  for  good  works;  so  mother  and 
daughter  went  about  in  their  close  white  veils  applying 
the  simples   which  the  old  woman  pounded  and  com- 


102  KING-ERRANT 

poiiiieleicl^  atid  doing  iill  they  could  for  the  brave  men  who 
were  helping  the  beloved  of  their  eyes  to  keep  his  king- 
dom. They  could  do  no  less;  they  could  do  no  more; 
so  at  least  said  the  Khanum,  as  often  in  the  dark  nights 
the  mother  and  daughter  lay  awake  trembling  in  each 
other's  arms,  listening  during  an  attack  or  a  sally. 

Grandmother  Isan-daulet  would  fall  foul  of  them  for 
their  red  eyes. 

"  When  a  man  comes  in  to  his  food,"  she  would  say, 
"  reeling  from  blows  at  his  head  or  sick  at  stomach 
with  hunger,  'tis  no  comfort  to  him  to  see  tears,  or  the 
signs  of  tears.  Thou  sayest,  daughter,  thou  can'st  do 
no  more  for  thy  son?  Then  I  can.  I  can  make  him 
angry.'* 

And  she  did:  so  that  Babar  went  from  his  breakfast 
with  his  soft  heart  hardened  to  disdain. 

Dearest-One  used  to  admire  her  grandmother's  pluck. 
Not  to  care  if  one  hurt  the  beloved  for  his  good! 
That  was  great.  And  she  would  wring  her  hands  tight 
and  say  to  herself :  "  I  told  him  long  ago  that  there  was 
nothing  I  would  not  do  for  him;  but  there  is  nothing, 
nothing  I  can  do." 

So  the  months  dragged  by.  Harvest  came  and  went 
without  bringing  fresh  supplies  to  the  beleaguered  for- 
tress, and  Shaibani,  cynical,  somewhat  afraid  of  his  dar- 
ing young  antagonist,  withdrew  from  actual  collision, 
and  contented  himself  with  blockade.  Starvation  would 
do  the  work  without  his  aid. 

The  grain  for  the  horses  had  already  given  out ;  how- 
ever, while  the  leaves  lasted  the  mulberry  trees  and  the 
rose-wood  trees  in  the  fortified  gardens  were  stripped 
and  did  for  fodder.  But  the  winter  winds  ended  this 
supply,  and  the  shift  was  made  to  keep  some  few  horses 
alive  with  the  rispings  of  wood  moistened  with  water 
and  sprinkled  with  salt.     A  sorry  appearance  was  that 


KING-ERRANT  103 

of  the  poor  steeds  on  such  miserable  fare;  but  Babar's 
charger  did  better,  with  a  daily  share  of  his  master's 
bread ;  though  the  big-boned  lad  could  ill  spare  it.  For 
all  alike  were  on  short  commons ;  and  they  grew  shorter 
day  by  day.  The  dying  horses  were  killed  and  eaten, 
the  donkeys  went  next  —  then  the  cats  and  dogs.  When 
matters  came  to  this  pass,  however,  night  after  night 
men  —  brave  men  —  began  to  let  themselves  down  over 
the  wall  and  make  their  escape.  The  haggard  young 
King  never  knew  when  he  called  a  council  of  war,  what 
trusted,  what  honoured  face,  might  not  be  absent.  Yet 
still  he  clung  to  that  last  drop  of  blood.  The  oath  might 
have  been  foolish,  since,  as  the  ancients  said,  a  fortress 
can  only  be  maintained  by  the  joint  action  of  head,  and 
feet,  and  hands ;  that  is  to  say  by  generalship,  two 
friendly  forces  on  either  side,  and  a  good  supply  of 
water  and  stores  as  the  starting  point  of  all.  Still  he 
had  made  it,  and  he  meant  to  stick  to  it.  The  others 
might  go  if  they  pleased. 

**  If  I  could  only  secure  thine  and  my  mother's  and 
my  grandmother's  safety,"  he  said  to  Dearest-One — ■ 
"the  other  few  women  also,"  he  added  —  "though 
there  is  little  fear  for  them,  they  count  not  enough  for 
harm;  and  Shaibani  hath  his  army  well  in  hand.  That 
is  how  he  scored  against  me.  Those  accursed  Moghuls 
of  my  grandmother's  would  not  obey  orders.  If  they 
killed  a  man  they  plundered  him  —  and  what  is  that, 
when  a  turning  movement  hath  been  ordered?  Ah!  it 
was  devilish !  devilish ! "  And  the  tall,  thin,  young 
figure  would  throw  out  its  arms  almost  appealingly. 
For  Babar  was  ever  high-strung,  and  his  nerves  were 
going. 

He  gave  himself  no  rest  either.  Night  and  day  he  was 
always  on  the  watch.  So  it  did  not  matter  so  much  to 
him  as  to  others  when  Shaibani  Khan,  changing  his  tactics. 


104  KING-ERRANT 

commenced  making  the  darkness  hideous  by  beating 
large  kettle  drums  and  sounding  the  alarm.  Yet  the 
young  King  shook  his  fist  over  the  battlements  at  his 
foe,  who  had  now  pitched  his  headquarters  tent  close 
to  the  Lovers'  Cave,  and  said  to  Dearest-One,  "  It  is 
not  fair,  and  yet  it  is!  I  would  do  it  in  his  place  — 
and  yet  I  don't  know  —  I  don't  know !  "  He  was  very 
near  the  end  of  his  tether,  yet  his  grip  was  tight  as  ever 
and  he  would  sit  on  the  top  of  the  gateway  with  a  cross- 
bow and  shoot  at  everyone  and  everything  living  that 
showed  itself. 

"  I  struck  a  palish  white-coloured  horse  to-day,"  he 
said  to  his  sister  with  a  cruel  exultant  look  in  the  eyes 
that  had  always  been  so  tender  for  God's  dumb  crea- 
tures, "  and  it  fell  dead  —  would  it  had  been  a  man !  " 

And  Dearest-One  turned  pale.  This  was  worse  than 
death;  worse  than  anything  —  anything  in  the  wide, 
wide  world ! 

She  lay  face  downwards  beside  her  mother  that  night 
and  thought,  and  thought,  and  thought,  until  the  grey 
dawn  came.  Then  she  sat  up  and  looked  at  her  mother 
sleeping  beside  her. 

Yes!  it  was  best.  The  plan  was  worth  the  trying  at 
any  rate;  and  she  would  be  the  only  one  to  suffer. 

She  lay  down  again,  and  laid  her  head  on  that  gentle, 
loving,  sleeping  breast.  And  the  motherly  arms,  un- 
conscious as  they  were,  closed  round  her  and  held  her 
fast  until  she,  too,  slept,  outwearied.  That  morning  she 
was  closeted  with  her  grandmother  for  hours,  and  at  the 
midday  meal  the  old  woman's  eyes  showed  red;  but 
Dearest-One's  were  clear  and  bright;  when  the  mind  is 
made  up  there  is  no  use  in  tears. 

The  evening  was  stormy.  The  bitter  east  wind  swept 
along  the  ramparts  and  drove  the  dust  in  blinding  clouds 
into  the  eyes  of  all.      The  very  foe  ceased  from  their 


KING-ERRANT  105 

disturbing  shouts  of  alarm,  and  on  many  a  post  the  sen- 
try slept  awhile. 

Did  one  at  the  wicket  gate  by  the  Lovers^  Cave  sleep 
or  did  he  not;  and  did  the  white-robed  figure  that 
slipped  after  dusk  through  the  deserted  streets  pass  out, 
unseen,  to  challenge  fate  in  the  Usbek  leader's  camp? 

Or  did  Dearest-One  send  a  message  only? 

Or  was  it  only  chance  which  the  very  next  morning 
brought  the  ultimatum  to  the  haggard  young  King? 
Who  knows?    Certain  it  is  it  came. 

There  was  no  reason,  Shaibani  wrote,  why  those 
who  had  been  brave  foes  should  not  be  brave  friends. 
None  could  deny  the  King  of  Samarkand's  bravery ;  few 
would  care  to  deny  his  own.  Why  then  should  they  not 
be  friends  ?  A  marriage  was  ever  the  best  way  of  secur- 
ing peace.  Let  Babar  therefore  give  his  sister  Khan- 
zada  Begum  in  lawful  marriage  to  his  foe  —  who,  be  it 
said,  was  in  strong  enough  position  to  take  her  —  and 
so  form  a  lasting  alliance. 

"  My  sister ! "  burst  out  Babar  in  a  fury.  "  Go  back 
to  the  savage  Usbek  Shaibani,  robber,  raider,  sir  ambas- 
sador; and  tell  him  that  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  is  not 
his  peer  —  he  is  his  master!" 

This  was  all  very  well  in  the  saying ;  it  sent  the  blood, 
growing  a  bit  sluggish  from  sheer  starvation,  flooding 
to  heart  and  brain ;  but  afterwards  when  the  envoy  had 
gone,  and  the  hungry  anxious  faces  of  the  few  who  still 
remained  to  him  showed  bitter  disappointment,  he  leant 
his  head  on  his  hands  drearily  in  the  quiet  of  the 
women's  room,  and  tried  to  put  himself  in  the  place  of 
those  bearded  Begs  to  whom  a  woman's  honour  or  hap- 
piness or  indeed  affection,  was,  as  a  rule,  of  small  ac- 
count. 

He  could  not,  of  course,  assent;  and  yet  it  seemed  a 
pity  that  he  could  not. 


106  KING-ERRANT 

And  while  he  sat  crouched  in  upon  himself,  spent  and 
weary,  Dearest-One  herself  came  and  crouched  beside 
him  and  laid  her  pretty  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Brother !  '*  she  said,  "  I  have  heard.  Come  let  us 
talk  it  over  as  in  old  days.  So  let  me  hold  thy  poor 
hand  as  we  used  to  do;  for  we  have  ever  been  friends, 
Babar-ling  —  have  we  not  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  calm  and  steady  despite  the  clamant 
note  of  tears  that  was  in  every  word. 

"  Talk  not  of  it,  sister !  I  will  not  have  it,"  he  mut- 
tered ;  and  his  voice  was  broken,  husky.  "  By  God 
and  his  prophet!  I  could  strike  him  dead  for  the 
thought  that  I  could  be  such  a  cur  as  even  to  think  of 
it." 

She  shrank  just  for  a  second.  "  Many  men  would 
think  it  naught,"  she  said,  "but  it  is  because  it  means 
much  to  thee  that  thou  must  think." 

"  I  will  not  think,"  he  cried  passionately,  "  I  will  not 
be  coerced.  I  will  not  be  cozened.  I,  Babar,  take  the 
consequence." 

He  left  her,  baffled,  yet  still  determined,  to  return  to 
the  charge  in  a  day  or  two;  and  in  starvation  times  a 
day  or  two  means  much.  So  much,  that  she  spoke 
sternly  with  finality. 

"Wilt  thou  kill  thy  mother  by  thy  pride,  Babar? 
Listen!  Long  years  ago  I  said  I  would  do  aught  for 
thee—" 

"And  I  answered  I  would  never  ask  aught,"  inter- 
rupted her  brother  hotly ;  but  she  went  on  unheeding : 

"  And  now  thou  deniest  me  the  right  to  save  thee.  I 
who  have  so  few  pleasures.  Lo!  as  thou  knowest,  my 
heart  is  dead  for  love ;  and  this  man  —  this  Shaibani  — 
is  not  all  bad  —  I  —  I  know  he  is  not.  Brotherling ! 
women  have  borne  more  for  love  than  I  shall  have  to 
bear  maybe  —  for  the  man  must  be  kind  in  a  way  — 


KING-ERRANT  107 

for  —  for  if  it  ended,  Babar  —  he  could  take  me  — 
without  marriage  —  so  grandmother  says — " 

Babar  started  up  with  an  oath.  "  So  she  also  is 
against  me ! " 

Yet  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  knew  that  the  old  woman 
spoke  truth.  It  was  generous  in  Shaibani  even  to  offer 
marriage. 

"  I  will  not  have  it ! ''  he  cried.  "  I  will  not  yield !  I 
would  sooner  kill  thee,  myself." 

"  Thou  wilt  kill  —  us  all,"  she  said  calmly.  Then  she 
broke  down  and  clung  to  him  sobbing.  **Let  it  be, 
brotherling,  for  my  sake.  There  is  so  little  I  can  do  — 
let  me  do  this." 

The  quick  tears  of  understanding  ran  down  his  cheeks, 
but  he  shook  his  head  and  left  her. 

So,  after  a  day  or  two,  yet  another  proposition  came 
from  Shaibani  to  his  brave  foe.  Babar  might  go  with 
bare  life,  taking  his  womenkind  with  him  if  he  chose, 
provided  he  capitulated  utterly  and  acknowledged  he  was 
beaten. 

There  were  parleyings  and  parleyings  and  who  knows 
what  secret  promisings  beside,  what  innocent  lies,  what 
heart-broken  yielding  on  Babar's  part.  At  last,  protest- 
ing vainly  that  had  he  had  the  slightest  hope  of  relief, 
or  had  he  had  another  week's  stores  remaining  he  would 
never  have  listened  to  either  threats  or  entreaties,  he 
agreed  to  capitulate  for  bare  life  to  him  and  his.  His 
mother,  his  sister,  his  grandmother,  these  three  must 
share  his  freedom.  The  others  must  take  their  chance 
of  horses,  or  remain,  unharmed.  Grandmother  Isan- 
daulet,  however,  flatly  refused  to  come.  She  was  too 
old,  she  said,  to  be  cocked  up  on  a  horse  for  days.  She 
was  not  afraid.  Thrice,  already,  when  she  was  young 
and  good-looking  she  had  fallen  into  the  enemies'  hands 
and  had  been  unmolested  —  save  once  and  how  that 


108  KING-ERRANT 

business  ended  Babar  knew.  So,  being  now  wrinkled 
and  undesirable  she  would  just  remain  and  mayhap  give 
Shaibani  a  piece  of  her  mind.  So  her  horse  had  bet- 
ter go  to  Mingilek-Gokultash  who  was  perchance  over 
good-looking.  It  was  ever  best  not  to  put  temptation  in 
men's  way.  Besides  Dearest-One  might  like  to  have 
her  foster-sister  with  her.  It  was  convenient  to  have 
some  woman  one  could  trust  beside  one  in  dangerous 
times. 

As  the  old  woman  spoke,  she  held  her  granddaughter 
by  the  hand,  and  her  old  fingers  tightened  themselves 
on  the  young  ones  with  a  grip  firm  as  steel,  soft  as  a 
caress.  And  Dearest-One  stooped  and  kissed  the  old 
face  on  the  lips. 

So  by  midnight  all  was  ready  for  the  preconcerted 
escape.  The  few  sorry  horses  left  in  the  citadel  were 
standing  saddled,  the  enemy's  pickets,  it  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed, were  looking  another  way.  Babar,  fierce,  mis- 
erable, helped  his  mother  to  her  pad  and  settled  the  stir- 
rups for  her.  He  could  scarcely  see  for  the  hot  tears 
held  back  so  angrily  in  his  eyes.  He  could  scarcely 
speak  for  the  hard-held  breath  that  seemed  to  choke 
him. 

Defeated,  flying  for  his  life  —  No!  not  for  his  own 
only ;  for  theirs  also ! 

He  gave  a  glance  round  at  his  party.  "  Is  everyone 
there?    Is  everyone  ready?" 

And  from  the  midst  of  the  little  crowd  clustering 
round  the  fugitives  with  sobs  and  tears  a  voice  came 
clearly : 

"Yea!  brother!     I  am  ready." 

It  was  Dearest-One's  voice.  That  must  be  she  lean- 
ing from  her  horse  to  whisper  a  word  to  old  Isan-daulet 
who  stood  waving  farewells. 

"  Then  in  God's  name  let  us  begone,  and  end  the  busi- 


KING-ERRANT  109 

ness,"  he  shouted  fiercely,  leapt  to  his  charger,  dug  spurs 
to  its  flanks  and  was  off  careless  of  disturbance.  He 
had  sold  himself  for  the  sake  of  those  who  loved  him, 
man  and  woman  alike;  but  the  blackness  as  of  death 
was  before  his  eyes;  he  could  not  think;  he  could  do 
nothing  but  dig  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  ride  on  reck- 
lessly. 

And  the  night  itself  was  dark  as  death;  he  had  to 
rein  up  amid  the  great  branches  of  the  Soyd  Canal,  and 
with  difficulty  rallied  his  party  to  the  right  road.  Yet, 
still  entangled  in  the  intricacies  of  the  irrigated  fields, 
there  was  time  for  no  other  thought  save  that  of  getting 
as  far  from  Samarkand  as  possible  before  the  dawn. 
Since  though  the  Usbek  leader  himself  had  given  order 
for  free  pass,  his  followers,  still  less  his  allies,  were  not 
to  be  trusted. 

The  sky  was  grey  with  coming  day  before  they 
reached  the  comparative  safety  of  a  wild  valley  set  amid 
encircling  hills.  Here  Babar  called  a  minute's  halt  to 
breathe  the  horses,  and  for  the  first  time  turned  to  take 
stock  of  those  who  followed  him. 

His  keen  eye  took  in  his  mother's  veiled  form.  But 
that  bundle  like  a  sack  of  corn,  that  crumpled  heap  like 
a  withered  rose  leaf  —  neither  of  these  were  Dearest- 
One?  She  rode!  In  a  flash,  a  sense  of  pride  at  her  up- 
right carriage  on  her  horse  came  to  him,  even  as  a  suf- 
focating leap  of  his  heart  made  him  speechless  for  a 
second.  An  awful  fear  seized  him.  He  knew,  and  yet 
he  would  not  know  what  had  happened. 

"  Khanzada  Begum ! ''  he  muttered  hoarsely.  "  Where 
—  where  is  she?'' 

No  one  spoke,  and  anger  —  hopeless,  helpless  anger  and 
grief  kept  him  silent.  Then  someone  said  almost  fear- 
fully: 

"  Mayhap  in  the  night  time  —  in  the  darkness  — " 


no  KING-ERRANT 

**  It  IS  a  lie ! ''  burst  out  Babar.  "  It  is  a  lie !  —  I  have 
been  tricked !  "  Then  something  of  the  innate  truth  that 
was  ever  in  his  soul  made  him  pause.  He  ought  to  have 
known  —  he  ought  to  have  guessed.  Foes  were  not 
usually  so  generous,  and  he  saw  himself  not  altogether 
free  from  blame.  "  I  have  tricked  myself  —  I  ought  to 
have  known/'  he  burst  out.  "I  —  oh !  may  God's  curse 
light  on  everyone  —  everyone — " 

So  he  stood,  his  face  turned  towards  the  distant  city 
for  a  moment,  then  with  a  reckless  laugh  he  loosed  the 
rein  on  his  horse's  neck  and  threw  his  arms  above  his 
head. 

"  Come  on !  "  he  shouted  as  the  horse  bounded  for- 
ward. "  We  are  free !  Let  us  ride  to  hell  —  to  hell 
and  damnation !  "  And  his  laughter  echoed  back,  bring- 
ing terror  to  his  mother's  heart. 

"He  is  beside  himself,"  she  cried.  "After  him, 
Kasim  —  for  God's  sake  keep  him  from  harm." 

But  Kasim  and  Kambar-Ali  his  squire,  were  already 
at  the  gallop,  and  the  sound  of  their  horses'  feet  fol- 
lowed Babar  as  he  fled. 

From  what? 

From  everything  in  the  wide  world.  From  anger, 
love,  remorse,  helpless  grief,  even  from  resolve  not  to 
be  beaten.  His  nerves  were  unstrung;  for  the  moment 
his  one  thought  was  escape. 

But  only  for  a  moment.  The  sound  of  those  gallop- 
ing hoofs  behind  him  brought  immediate  self-control, 
immediate  grip  on  kingly  dignity. 

He  turned  back  on  his  saddle  to  cast  a  word  that 
would  re-instate  him  in  sanity  to  those  following  fools. 

"  A  race !  "  he  cried  gaily.  "  Come  on !  A  ra.ce  let  it 
be!  —  Ten  dinars    .    .    ." 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  he  overbalanced.  Perhaps  he 
felt  giddy,  perhaps  the  girths  on  his  starving  horse  were 


KING-ERRANT  111 

all  too  slack.  Anyhow  the  saddle  turned  with  him  and 
he  fell;  fell  clear  on  his  head. 

He  was  up  again,  however,  ere  they  reached  him, 
standing  unsteadily  with  dazed  eyes,  passing  his  hand 
gently  backwards  and  forwards  over  his  brow. 

"What  was  it  all  about?"  he  murmured  cheerfully. 
"  IVe  clean  forgotten  it  all."     And  he  had. 

He  mounted  again  after  a  minute  and  rode  on;  but 
the  memory  of  that  night  had  gone  out  of  his  mind 
for  ever  and  aye. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Think,  in  this  battered  Caravanserai 
Whose  doorways  are  alternate  Night  and  Day, 
How  Sultan  after  Sultan  with  his  Pomp 
Abode  his  Hour  or  two  and  went  his  way. 

Omar  Khayyam. 

Those  first  few  days  of  despair  were  as  a  dream. 
The  world  and  all  that  is  in  it  showed  to  Babar's 
eyes  like  a  phantasy  of  sleep.  He  lay  and  rested  at  a 
friendly  village,  passing  from  the  extreme  of  famine  to 
plenty;  from  an  estate  of  danger  and  calamity  to  peace 
and  ease.  The  nice  fat  flesh,  the  bread  of  fine  flour  well 
baked,  the  sweet  melons  and  excellent  grapes  in  great 
abundance,  all  these  made  him  feel  sensibly  the  pleasures 
of  peace  and  plenty;  for  enjoyment  after  suffering, 
abundance  after  want,  come  with  an  increased  relish 
and  afford  a  more  exquisite  delight.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  his  life  that  he  had  passed  from  the  injuries  of 
his  enemies  and  the  pressure  of  actual  hunger  to  the 
ease  of  security,  and  he  revelled  in  it  like  the  whole- 
some-hearted, and,  for  the  time,  mindless  creature  that 
he  was. 

But  memory  of  a  sort  came  back  to  him  after  a  few 
days  and  he  grew  restless;  so  they  marched  on.  And 
as  he  rode  over  the  hills  or  walked,  leading  his  mother's 
pony,  discontent  began  once  more  to  leaven  his  glad  con- 
tent. The  world  in  these  lower  lying  districts  was 
beautiful  in  the  early  springtide,  but  there  was  some- 
thing more  in  life  than  mere  beauty.  There  was  some- 
thing else  needed  to  make  it  splendid. 

112 


KING-ERRANT  113 

"  I  will  go  back  to  where  we  were  in  the  White  Moun- 
tains," he  said  one  day.  "  I  was  happy  there  and  so 
was  Dearest-One." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  mentioned  his  sister's 
name,  and  his  mother  looked  at  him  anxiously.  But  he 
said  no  more.  Nature  was  dealing  in  kindly  fashion 
with  him  and  bringing  memory  back  by  slow  degrees. 

But  at  Bishagher,  where  they  halted  a  few  days,  it 
was  like  to  have  been  otherwise,  for  there  they  came 
across  an  old  duenna  of  Babar's  mother  who  having 
been  left  behind  in  Samarkand  because  of  the  scarcity 
of  horses,  had,  nothing  daunted,  trudged  after  her  mis- 
tress on  foot.  The  two  women  sobbed  on  each  other's 
necks,  while  the  one  told  and  the  other  listened  to  the 
piteous  tale  of  a  marriage,  which  after  all  had  not  been 
so  bad  as  it  might  have  been,  because  of  old  Isan-daulet's 
masterful  spirit.  But  they  said  nothing  to  the  menfolk 
about  it  all.  It  was  as  well  that  their  boy  should  hear 
as  few  details  as  possible. 

And  here  —  the  first  possible  place  for  news  since 
those  long  months  of  siege  —  tidings  came  of  family 
deaths  at  Tashkend.  It  was  fourteen  years  since  Ba- 
bar's  mother  had  been  there  and  seen  her  people,  and 
now,  when  they  were  hopeless,  homeless,  and  when, 
moreover,  she  had  her  old  governess  to  serve  her  once 
more,  the  time  seemed  fitting  for  a  visit. 

So  she  went,  and  for  the  first  time  for  many  years 
Babar  was  left  alone  without  any  hostages  to  fortune. 

And  one  of  the  first  things  he  did  with  his  liberty  was 
to  climb  a  certain  hill  all  set  with  flowers,  which  he  and 
his  sister  had  climbed  one  spring  day  in  the  past.  The 
gentians  were  as  blue,  the  primulas  as  pink  as  ever,  and 
the  mosaic  of  forget-me-nots  and  yellow  crowsfoot  lay 
almost  inconceivably  bright  as  ever.  The  blue  sky, 
grazing    ground    for    fleecy    white    flocks    of    clouds. 


114  KING-ERRANT 

stretched  away  beyond  the  hills  to  that  faint  bluer  line 
of  distant  Samarkand. 

All  was  as  it  had  been.  And  the  green  enamel  frame 
set  with  jewels,  like  flowers,  lay  on  the  transparent  ice 
where  she  had  put  it.  He  had  not  noticed  that  before; 
one  could  see  through  the  slab  —  see  green  grass-blades, 
and  a  half  opened  flower  bud  that  had  been  held  in  chill 
prison  for  years  and  years  and  years  —  It  was  quaint, 
utterly,  when  her  face,  her  portrait  had  gone!  The 
rain  had  washed  it  away.  The  vellum  on  which  it  had 
been  painted  lay  white  as  snow. 

Yes!  quaint  utterly.  The  icy  grip  had  kept  its  hold, 
the  warm  sunshine  had  let  slip  its  prize.  He  sat  down 
idly,  his  head  resting  in  his  hands. 

Yes!  her  face  had  gone!  What  matter  now  if  there 
was  place  or  grace  beside  it  for  another?  Poor  Baisan- 
ghar!  and  poor  —  infinitely  poorer  Dearest-One!  For 
the  first  time  the  full  meaning  of  what  had  happened 
came  over  him;  he  turned  round  passionately,  hid  his 
face  among  the  flowers  and  cried  like  a  child. 

Ishk  and  ashk!  Love  and  tears.  How  little  divided 
them.  So  the  thought  of  his  dead,  crippled  cousin  came 
to  him  and  the  memory  of  that  vivid,  fate-defying  face 
stood  between  him  and  despair.  The  Crystal  Bowl! 
Yes!  he  would  laugh  as  he  quaflfed:  life  had  brought 
him  strange  adventures;  let  her  bring  more!  He  was 
ready  for  them  —  quite  ready,  in  his  manhood,  to  take 
what  the  years  might  hold.  For  boyhood  had  gone. 
That  had  capitulated  with  Samarkand. 

He  did  not  formulate  all  this  clearly;  he  simply  felt 
it.  Felt  the  keen  joy  in  life  come  back  to  him  as  he 
sat  up  once  more  and  looked  out  over  God's  beauties  with 
still  swimming  eyes;  and  the  tears  were  magnifying 
glasses ! 

A  quaint  conceit  that  might  be  worked  up  into  a 


KING-ERRANT  115 

couplet  or  perchance  a  quatrain.  Baisanghar  would 
have  done  it  finely:  he  worked  well  on  such  finniken 
fancies.  But  he  had  been  wrong  in  the  verses  he  had 
written  on  the  back  of  the  enamel  frame.  Were  they 
there  still?  Aye!  they  had  been  protected  from  the 
tears  of  rain. 

He  read  the  lines  over,  feeling  as  he  read  them  that 
there  was  something  in  them  that  lacked.  So,  as  he 
felt,  words  came  to  him ;  for  he  was  born  with  that  ar- 
tistic temperament  which  cannot  help  trading  on  its 
own  most  sacred  emotions;  perhaps  because  such  na- 
tures see  vaguely  that  individualism  is  a  snare  to  the 
soul,  that  all  things  worth  recording  are  part  of  a 
Greater  Personality  than  their  own.  And  the  outcome 
of  feeling  and  words  ran  thus:  — 

"Seven  thrones,  seven  sins,  seven  stars. 
But  not  one  thing  that  bars 
Life's  love,  Life's  tears. 
The  crushed  grape  fills  the  bowl 
With  wine  for  the  sad  soul 
Beyond  these  years." 

He  jumped  up  feeling  quite  pleased  with  himself,  for 
they  were  the  first  verses  in  that  measure  he  had  ever 
composed ! 

After  this  when  he  was  wandering  barefoot  over  hill 
and  dale,  he  would  sit  down  when  he  found  some  pleas- 
ant spot  and  string  rhymes  together;  for  he  was  in  a 
backwater,  mentally  and  bodily.  For  twenty  years  he 
had  battled  with  Fate  over  trivialities ;  since  what,  after 
all,  were  Ferghana  and  Samarkand  and  Hissar?  Only 
tiny  little  bits  of  God's  earth.  He  was  beginning  to  be 
a  trifle  weary  of  it  all,  to  long  for  a  larger  horizon.  So 
he  sent  off  on  the  pretext  of  getting  news,  the  few  fol- 
lowers who  had  remained  with  him  while  he,  Nevian- 


116  KING-ERRANT 

Gokultash,  and  another  wandered  farther  and  farther, 
higher  and  higher  up  the  White  Mountains  until  they 
reached  the  Roof-of-the- World.  And  there  they  lodged 
awhile  in  the  felt  tents  of  a  shepherd  and  lived  on 
sheeps'-milk,  cheese  and  buckwheat-cakes.  Their  host 
was  a  man  of  some  eighty  years;  but  his  mother 
was  still  alive,  and  of  extreme  age,  being  at  this  time 
no  less  than  one  hundred  and  eleven  years  old,  and  in  full 
possession  of  her  faculties.  Indeed,  the  circumstances 
of  the  great  Timur's  invasion  of  India  remained  fresh 
in  her  memory  owing,  doubtless,  to  her  having  been  in 
her  youth  greatly  interested  in  one  who  had  been  in  his 
army. 

She  was  a  hale  old  woman,  smoke-dried  yet  apple- 
cheeked,  who  loved  to  hear  herself  talk,  especially  when 
the  tall  good-looking  young  stranger  sat  at  her  feet, 
fixing  his  hazel  eyes  that  were  at  once  so  sad  and  so 
merry  on  her  whirling  pirn  as  she  twisted  the  brown 
wool  for  the  blankets. 

How  it  whirled,  and  leaped,  and  spun,  as  the  withered 
old  hand  jerked  the  thread!  So  the  Hand  of  Fate 
jerked  men's  lives,  setting  them  spinning  like  tops  into 
the  shadows,  out  into  the  firelight  again ;  always,  always 
spinning ! 

"  So  the  Great  Khan  was  feeding  his  dogs,  being  in 
those  days  infidel,  when  Shaikh  Jumal-ud-din  the  di- 
vine came  to  him.  *  Am  I  better  than  this  dog?'  quoth 
Timur,  '  or  is  he  better  than  I  ? '  And  the  Shaikh 
smiled.  '  If  the  King  has  faith  he  is  better  than  his 
dog;  but  if  he  has  no  faith,  then  is  his  dog  better 
than  he,  since  the  dog  believes  in  a  master.'  So  the 
Great  Khan  said  the  Creed  immediately." 

"  Wah ! "  murmured  the  circle  of  shepherds ;  but 
Babar  would  press  for  tales  of  the  Great  Invasion. 
And  sometimes  the  old  lady  would  begin  at  the  very 


KING-ERRANT  117 

beginning,  and  tell  how  Timur's  soldiers,  imitating  their 
leader,  would  make  their  left  arms  straight  as  the  let- 
ter "  I  *'  and  their  right  arms  crooked  as  a  "  K  "  and 
so  write  death  in  the  blood  of  their  enemies.  How 
they  let  fly  their  arrows  as  the  moon  lets  fly  shooting 
stars  so  that  the  blood-sodden  hillsides  showed  like  a 
drift  of  red  tulips.  Or  she  would  drone  on  —  it  was  a 
long  story  —  over  the  "  Battle  of  the  Mire,*'  where  the 
enemy  not  having  strength  to  fight,  sought  help  from 
the  magic  rain-stone,  so  that  though  the  sun  was  in 
the  Warrior,  a  host  of  dark  clouds  suddenly  filled  the 
sky.  The  thunder  resounded,  the  lightnings  flashed,  the 
water  descended  from  the  eyes  of  the  stars  until  the 
voice  of  Noah  was  heard  praying  a  second  time  for 
deliverance  from  the  Deluge.  Then  the  beasts  of  the 
field  swam  like  fishes,  the  skin  of  the  horses*  bellies 
adhered  to  the  crust  of  the  earth.  The  feathers  of  the 
arrows  damped  off,  their  notches  came  out,  neither  men 
nor  horses  could  move  by  reason  of  the  rain     .     .     . 

So  she  would  maunder  on  until  Babar  would  say 
impatiently : 

"  Get  on  to  India,  mother !  I  would  fain  be  there 
myself." 

And  he  would  hardly  listen  as  she,  once  more  be- 
ginning at  the  very  beginning,  would  detail  the  eight- 
hundred-thousand  men,  provided  with  rations  for  seven 
years  and  each  accompanied  with  two  milch-kine  and 
ten  milch-goats,  so  that  when  stores  were  exhausted 
they  might  live  on  milk,  and  when  milk  dried  up  they 
could  convert  the   animals   themselves   into   provisions. 

It  was  all  doubtless  very  wise  of  Timur  —  God  rest 
his  soul !  — who  was  ever  great  on  the  commissariat ; 
but  he,  Babar,  preferred  the  laconic  remark  in  his 
great  ancestor's  autobiography,  "  The  princes  of  In- 
dia were   at  variance  with  one  another.     Resolved  to 


118  KING-ERRANT 

make  myself  master  of  the  Indian  empire.  Did  so." 
It  was  however  the  more  intimate  personal  experiences 
which  the  old  woman  held  by  virtue  of  that  dead  *'  in- 
terest "  of  hers,  which  fired  Babar's  imagination ;  but 
these  fragments  of  a  half -forgotten  past  were  not  al- 
ways to  be  got  at.  The  long  years  of  common  round 
and  daily  task  had  overlaid  them;  it  needed  a  subtle 
touch  upon  the  instrument  to  make  it  vibrate  once  more. 
But  Babar  found  a  key.  There  was  a  certain  Turk- 
homan  ballad  called  "The  Maid-of-the-Spring/*  which 
invariably  unlocked  the  old  woman's  memory.  So, 
often,  as  they  sat  over  the  camp  fire  at  night,  Babar, 
smiling  to  himself,  would  say,  "A  song,  a  song!  Let 
us  sing  *  The  Maid-of-the-Spring '  together  once  more, 
grandmother!     There  is  none  sings  it  as  thou  dost." 

Which  was  true!  Still  the  toneless  treble  of  the  old 
voice  whining  away  like  the  fine  whing  of  a  mosquito 
did  not  sound  so  bad  against  the  rich  baritone.  And 
the  youngest  maiden  could  not  have  nodded  and  becked 
more,  or  looked  more  arch.  And  perhaps  the  old  heart 
beat  as  quickly  as  a  young  one;  such  things  do  not 
go  by  age. 

And  this  is  what  they  sang  in  somewhat  monotonous 
antiphon : 

He. 

Maid  of  the  Spring!    I*m  thirsty!     I  pray 
A  drop  of  water!    I  must  away. 
God  bless  you,  my  girl !     And  don't  be  slow ! 
Give  me  a  drink  and  let  me  go. 

She. 

I  don't  give  drinks  to  strange  young  men 
Who  come  a-swaggering  down  the  glen; 
Naught  you'll  get  from  my  pitcher  to-day. 
Drink  for  yourself  and  go  your  way. 


He. 


She. 


He. 


He. 


She. 


He. 


KING-ERRANT  119 

Maid  of  the  Spring !     I  cannot  alight, 
I'm  far  too  tired !     I'm  wearied  quite ! 
I  haven't  time!     God  bless  you,  my  dear! 
Give  me  a  drink  —  I  can't  stay  here. 


The  birds  sing  sweet  in  the  spring,  they  say, 
It's  sweeter  still  when  /  tune  my  lay. 
But  tired  man  should  sleep  in  his  bed  — 
Farewell !     God's  blessing  be  on  your  head. 


Give  me  some  water,  you  pretty  dear ! 

If  I'd  only  time,  you  need  not  fear. 

My  darling!  a  drink  from  that  stoup  of  thine. 

Be  it  water  or  be  it  wine. 


She. 


Many  men  travel  along  this  way, 
All  are  thirsty  but  none  can  stay. 
Take  my  pitcher  and  drink  if  you  will, 
A  thirsty  man  must  have  his  fill. 

Your  brows  are  arched  by  a  pen,  I  swear, 
Your  teeth  are  pearls  —  I  will  treat  you  fair. 
Get  down  from  my  horse  and  wait  an  hour. 
Give  me  your  lips,  my  sweet,  my  flower. 


Roses  and  violets  grow  our  groves. 
No  one  may  pluck  them  but  he  who  loves. 
My  brother  has  slaves,  and  sticks  a-main; 
Drink  and  be  off  —  it  soon  will  rain  I 


Darlingest  dear!  let  it  storm  or  rain. 
My  wide  felt  cloak  shall  shelter  us  twain. 


120  KING-ERRANT 

Pitcher  and  all,  leap  up  and  ride, 
We'll  find  a  kiss  at  the  water's  side. 

She. 

My  love !  my  love !  have  you  come  at  last  ? 
Drop  the  pitcher  and  hold  me  fast! 
There  are  my  lips  before  we  fly 
Out  to  a  new  world  —  you  and  I. 

"And  now  for  India!"  Babar  would  cry  when  the 
applause  was  over.  "  I  want  to  hear  about  the  size 
of  it,  and  the  fruit  and  flowers  of  it,  and  all  about  it. 
See  you,  grandmother,  begin  and  tell  me  of  the  young 
woman  thy  man  met  at  Lahore  —  then  thou  wilt  re- 
member to  a  nicety!" 

So  the  summer  passed,  until  old  Isan-daulet  arriving 
from  Samarkand  with  news  of  Dearest-One,  set  Babar's 
mind  a-jogging  once  more  over  his  enemy  Shaibani. 
But  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  in  winter  time:  such 
a  bitter  cold  winter,  too.  More  than  one  man  died  of 
it,  and  even  Babar  himself  admitted  that,  after  diving 
sixteen  times  in  swift  succession  into  a  river  that  was 
only  unfrozen  in  the  middle  by  reason  of  its  swift  cur- 
rent, the  extreme  chilliness  of  the  water  quite  pene- 
trated his  bones;  as  well  it  might. 

Then  early  spring  brought  a  great  grief  which  gave 
pause  to  energy.  Nevian-Gokultash  was  done  to  death, 
by  a  scoundrel  who  was  jealous  of  Babar's  affection 
for  him,  and  who  had  the  temerity  to  say  that  faithful 
creature  had  fallen  over  a  precipice  when  he  was  drunk. 
Nevian,  who  adhered  so  strictly  to  the  law  of  Islam! 
Nevian,  who  had  always  sided  for  sobriety,  who  had 
been  to  the  full  as  urgent  as  old  Kasim  Beg  against  a 
King  giving  himself  up  to  wine.  Babar,  helpless  to  fol- 
low the  murderer,  felt  deeply  the  death  of  his  playmate 
in   childhood,  the   companion   of  his  boyhood.    There 


KING-ERRANT  121 

were  few  persons  for  whose  loss  he  would  have  grieved 
so  much  or  so  long.  For  a  week  or  ten  days,  he  thought 
of  nothing  else  and  the  unbidden  tears  were  ever  in  his 
eyes. 

After  this,  a  great  restlessness  set  in,  fostered  by  old 
Isan-daulet,  whose  whole  life  had  been  one  long  succes- 
sion of  battles  and  murders  and  sudden  deaths,  and 
whose  belief  in  Moghul  troops  never  wavered.  Why, 
she  suggested,  not  go  to  his  uncles  the  Khans  at  Tash- 
kend  ?  His  mother  had  been  ill ;  she  would  like  to  see 
him  once  more.  And  if  his  tongue  was  sufficiently  care- 
ful amongst  his  thirty-two  teeth,  he  might  get  substan- 
tial help. 

"  For  what  ?  '*  gloomed  Babar  — **  to  get  back  Akshi 
and  lose  Andijan  or  get  Andijan  and  lose  Akshi?  'Tis 
all  one  in  the  end.*' 

"  Not  the  fine  fighting,  child ! "  replied  the  old  lady 
craftily.  "  That  is  the  same,  be  it  in  Gehannum  or 
Bihisht"     (Hell  or  Heaven.) 

That  was  undoubtedly  true;  and  there  was  no  good 
to  be  gained  by  rambling  from  hill  to  hill  as  he  had  been 
doing. 

So,  once  more,  the  young  adventurer  gathered  to- 
gether a  very  scanty  band  of  followers;  for  old  Kasim 
Beg,  who  till  then  had  never  left  him,  had  come  to 
words  with  Isan-daulet  over  these  same  Moghuls,  and 
refused  to  accompany  him. 

''  I  say  not,  sire,''  remonstrated  the  wise  old  soldier, 
"  that  these  men  are  bad  soldiers  for  me ;  but  they  are 
for  the  Most  Exalted,  who  has  ideas  of  discipline.  Be- 
sides, I  care  not  to  risk  my  own  neck  for  a  chance.  In 
obedience  to  the  Most  Exalted's  commands  I  beheaded 
quite  a  number  of  these  men  in  the  last  campaign,  for 
marauding.  Wherefore,  therefore,  should  I  go  amongst 
their  mourning  relatives?    I  will  come  if  there  be  fight- 


122  KING-ERRANT 

ing.  Then  there  is  no  leisure  and  little  desire  for  pri- 
vate revenge;  blood  can  be  let  anywhere  and  one  corpse 
is  as  good  as  another." 

So  Kasim  went  with  his  immediate  adherents  to- 
wards Hissar;  and  Babar  set  off  to  Tashkend  with 
rather  a  heavy  heart.  In  a  somewhat  didactic  mood 
also,  for  resting  for  a  day  or  two  beside  a  spring  in  the 
lower  hills,  he  caused  a  verse  to  be  inscribed  on  a  stone 
slab  which  formed  one  side  of  the  well  where  the  water 
gushed  in  from  the  hill  above,  to  disappear  into  the 
earth  when  it  had  run  through  a  masonry  trough. 

"  Many  a  man  has  rested  and  has  drunk 
Thy  water,  and  like  thee,  O  spring,  has  sunk 
Swift  to  a  grave  where  he  lies  all  forgot. 
Conqueror  or  vanquished,  libertine  or  monk." 

He  was  not,  however,  at  home  in  the  rubdi,  as  he 
had  not,  at  that  time,  studied  with  much  attention  the 
style  and  phraseology  of  poetry. 

Indeed,  one  of  his  first  actions  on  reaching  Tashkend 
was  to  submit  some  of  his  compositions  to  the  Khan 
who  had  pretensions  to  taste,  and  who,  moreover,  wrote 
verses  himself;  though  his  odes,  to  be  sure,  were  rather 
deficient  in  manner  and  substance.  The  younger  poet- 
aster, however,  did  not  get  either  explicit  or  satisfactory 
criticism,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  uncle  had 
no  great  skill  in  poetic  diction.  He  did  not  know,  for 
instance,  that  in  the  Turkhi  language  it  was  allowable, 
by  poetic  licence,  to  interchange  certain  letters  for  the 
sake  of  the  rhyme. 

"  He  will  think  thee  a  nincompoop,''  stormed  Isan- 
daulet     "  Why  did'st  not  show  him  thy  sword  play  ?  " 

"  He  may  see  that  ere  long,"  quoth  Babar,  grimly, 
and  went  straight  away  to  write  the  first  ghazel  of  six 
|:ouplets  he  ever  composed. 


KING-ERRANT  123 

"  I  have  found  no  faithful  friend 
In  the  world  save  my  own  sad  soul. 
Dear  heart !   thou  must  give  and  spend 
On  thyself  thy  confidence  whole. 
Nightingale  sings  to  the  rose, 
Roses  give  scent  to  the  bird, 
Dreams  one  of  the  thorny  foes? 
The  other  of  passion  deferred? 
The  exile  must  live  apart. 
To  his  coffers  none  give  or  lend. 
The  banished  one  holds  his  heart 
To  his  soul  as  lover  and  friend." 

He  was  quite  pleased  with  this  eflfusion  and  sang  it 
at  a  festive  party  soon  after  with  great  gusto;  but  the 
next  morning  he  found  that  the  golden  clasp  of  his  gir- 
dle had  been  stolen  by  one  of  the  appreciative  audience! 

Moghuls  again! 


CHAPTER  X   , 

"A  blow  or  two  and  then  the  Fighting  ends, 
The  Sword  seeks  Scabbard,  and  the  Warrior  wends 
Through  Death's  wide  Door.    Were  it  not  wiser  then 
To  sleep  until   Retreat  its  message  sends?" 

So,  vaguely  thought  Babar  as  life  went  on  dully  with 
the  family  party  at  Tashkend.  Most  of  his  serv- 
ants had  left  from  absolute  want;  one,  or  at  most  two 
attendants  were  all  that  he  could  muster  when  he  went 
to  pay  his  compliments  to  the  Khan,  his  uncle.  Once, 
indeed,  he  accompanied  the  latter  on  a  foray;  but  it 
was  a  useless  sort  of  expedition.  He,  the  Khan,  took 
no  part,  beat  no  enemy;  he  simply  went  out  and  came 
back  again. 

The  young  man  spent  much  of  his  time  with  his 
mother  who  was  convalescing  but  slowly;  and  she  nat- 
urally, after  so  many  years  of  absence,  saw  much  of  her 
sisters  and  cousins;  most  of  them  elderly  women,  in- 
clined to  make  much  of  the  handsome  young  King- 
errant  whose  melancholy  never  could  withstand  the 
faintest  joke. 

For  all  that  Babar,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  was 
utterly  dissatisfied  with  himself  and  his  world.  Never 
since  the  debacle  at  Samarkand  had  he  found  himself 
again,  the  light-hearted,  intensely  vital  person,  who, 
taking  things  as  they  came,  could  yet  turn  them  to  his 
own  uses.  He  began  to  tell  himself  privately  that, 
rather  than  pass  his  life  as  he  was  now  doing,  homeless 
and  purposeless,  it  would  be  better  to  retire  into  some 
corner  where  he  might  live  unknown  and  undistin- 
guished; that,  rather  than  exist  in  distress  and  abase- 

124 


KING-ERRANT  125 

ment  far  better  were  it  to  flee  away  from  the  sight  of 
man,  so  far  as  his  feet  could  carry  him.  In  his  infancy 
he  remembered  he  had  always  had  a  strong  desire  to  see 
China,  but  had  never  been  able  to  accomplish  his  wish 
because  of  being  a  King  and  having  a  duty  towards  his 
relations  and  connections. 

Now  he  no  longer  had  a  throne.  Now,  his  mother 
—  the  only  tie  left,  for  Ayesha  his  wife  had  never  re- 
turned to  him  —  was  safe  with  her  mother  and  her 
brother. 

Now,  therefore,  was  the  time.  His  mother,  however, 
he  knew  well  would  not  support  the  proposition;  be- 
sides he  had  still  a  few  followers  who,  having  attached 
themselves  to  him  with  very  different  hopes,  would  be 
bitterly  disappointed  at  his  project.  He  could  not  bear 
to  hurt  anyone's  feelings,  so  he  devised  a  plan  in  order 
to  get  away  quietly.  He  had  never  seen  his  other  uncle, 
the  younger  Khan  of  Outer  Moghulistan.  Why  should 
he  not  go,  in  this  slack  time,  and  pay  him  a  visit? 

There  seemed,  indeed,  no  reason  against  this;  and 
Babar  was  on  the  very  point  of  starting  when  a  mes- 
senger arrived  hot  haste,  to  say  that  the  younger  Khan 
himself  was  on  his  way  to  see  his  nephew  and  his 
nephew's  mother! 

It  was  a  blow ;  Babar's  plan  was  utterly  disconcerted, 
but  being,  like  all  his  race,  full  of  family  affection,  he 
set  off  with  ever  so  many  elderly  Khanums  with  beauti- 
ful high-sounding  names  to  meet  his  uncle.  Such  a 
meeting  as  it  was;  so  many  embracings  and  kneelings 
and  yet  more  embracings;  some  ceremonious,  others 
quite  without  form  or  decorum.  After  which  the  great 
circle  of  cousins  and  aunts,  and  uncles  and  nephews, 
sat  down  and  continued  talking  about  past  occurrences 
and  old  stories  till  after  midnight. 

His  younger  uncle  had,  according  to  the  custom  of 


126  KING-ERRANT 

his  tribe,  brought  Babar  a  complete  dress  of  state.  A 
cap  embroidered  with  gold  thread,  a  long  frock  of 
China  satin  ornamented  with  flowered  needle-work.  A 
cuirass  of  fine  chain-mail,  Chinese  fashion,  with  a  whet- 
stone and  a  purse-pocket  from  which  were  suspended  a 
lot  of  little  trinkets  such  as  women  wear,  including  a 
bag  of  perfumed  earth.  He  looked  very  smart  in  it 
indeed,  and  when  he  returned  to  his  own,  tricked  out  in 
all  this  finery,  they  declared  it  was  only  by  his  voice 
they  recognised  him;  that  they  had  thought  he  was 
some  grand  young  Sultan! 

Life  at  any  rate  did  not  seem  quite  so  empty;  since 
the  two  Khans,  having  got  together,  began  to  propose  a 
joint  expedition  to  recover  Andijan  —  for  Babar,  being 
an  understood  corollary  so  long  as  they  remained  under 
the  influence  of  stern  old  Isan-daulet,  who  ruled  her 
sons  in  matriarchal   fashion. 

So  they  set  ofif  with  flaunting  pennons  and  kettle- 
drums, after  the  manner  of  Moghul  armies,  and  at  their 
first  halt  held  a  muster  of  the  troops,  also  in  the  Moghul 
fashion.  In  groups  of  three,  three  horse-tail  standards 
were  erected,  and  from  the  centre  staflf  of  each  a  long 
strip  of  white  cloth  was  fastened,  on  the  loose  end  of 
which  stood  the  foot  of  the  leader  of  that  division.  All 
around,  in  a  huge  circle,  the  troops  were  drawn  up. 
Then  with  many  ceremonials  and  sprinklings  of  mares'- 
milk  spirit,  each  leader  estimated  the  total  number  of 
the  force.  The  final  verdict  being  received  with  a  wild 
war-shout;  and  then,  at  full  speed,  the  whole  army  gal- 
loped centre-wards,  the  foremost  troopers  drawing  bri- 
dle within  a  foot  or  two  of  the  standards.  On  this  oc- 
casion Babar  looked  with  a  certain  awe,  yet  some  mis- 
giving, at  no  less  than  thirty  thousand  wild  horsemen  of 
the  desert. 

But  he  had  more  certain  aid  than  this.     He  found 


KING-ERRANT  127 

that  he  was  not  all  forgot  in  the  little  valley  at  the  ex- 
treme limit  of  the  habitable  world;  and  the  country 
people  welcomed  his  return  with  acclaim.  So  as  soon 
as  he  could,  with  that  curious  distrust  of  Moghul  blood, 
which  makes  the  name  given  to  the  dynasty  he  founded 
in  India  so  quaintly  ironical,  he  parted  company  with 
his  uncle's  forces,  and  pushing  on  with  such  of  his  own 
people  as  had  come  together,  sought  for  fine  fighting. 

And  he  got  it.  Still  reckless,  almost  without  definite 
aim,  he  followed  swift  on  every  opportunity  for  a  skir- 
mish. When  he  saw  a  body  of  the  enemy,  he  advanced 
at  full  gallop  without  minding  order  or  array;  and  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  sheer  daredevil  dash  succeeded. 
The  enemy  could  not  stand  the  charge  and  fled  with- 
out exchanging  blows.  But  sometimes  his  ill-luck 
with  the  Moghuls  pursued  him.  Once  when  he,  with 
his  staff,  was  waiting  outside  Andijan  for  the  return  of 
a  messenger.  It  was  about  the  third  watch  of  the  night, 
and  some  of  them  were  nodding,  others  fast  asleep  on 
their  horses,  when  all  at  once  the  saddle-drums  struck 
up  with  martial  noise  and  hubbub.  The  few  men  who 
were  with  Babar  were  seized  with  a  panic  and  took  to 
flight;  except  three,  all  the  rest  ran  off  to  a  man.  In 
vain  these  four  galloped  after  the  fugitives;  in  vain 
they  horsewhipped  some  of  them. 

All  their  exertions  were  ineffectual  to  make  therm 
stand. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  try  and  check  the 
pursuers  themselves  as  best  they  could.  So  the  four 
turned,  stood  and  discharged  flights  of  arrows,  until 
the  enemy  was  almost  within  sword  thrust ;  then,  wheel- 
ing swiftly,  they  galloped  on  to  take  up  a  fresh  position 
of  offence. 

In  this  way  they  covered  and  protected  the  retreat,  un- 
til by  good  fortune  they  fell  in  with  a  patrol  party  of 


128  KING-ERRANT 

their  own.  Then,  of  course,  came  immediate  charge,  to 
discover  that  the  pursuers  were  Moghuls  from  his  un- 
cle's force,  who  were  out  on  a  pillaging  expedition  of 
their  own!  In  this  manner,  by  a  false  alarm,  the  plan 
which  Babar  had  conceived  came  to  nothing,  and  he  had 
to  return  after  a  fruitless  journey. 

Truly,  if  the  young  man  had  wished  to  throw  away 
his  life,  he  could  scarcely  have  dared  Fate  more  reck- 
lessly. More  than  once  he  found  himself  almost  alone 
facing  stupendous  odds.  Once,  when  surprised  at  night 
in  negligent  security  without  advanced  guard  and  with- 
out videttes,  he  had  to  gallop  out  almost  unarmed  to 
meet  a  large  body  of  the  enemy  and  found  himself  in 
the  midst  of  them  with  but  three  supporters.  Even 
so  Fate  was  against  him.  He  drew  out  of  his  quiver 
by  mistake  a  green-tipped  finger  guard  instead  of  an 
arrow,  and  being  unwilling  to  throw  it  away  because 
his  uncle  the  Khan  had  given  it  to  him,  lost  as  much 
time  in  returning  it  to  its  place  as  would  have  sufficed 
for  the  despatch  of  two  arrows,  and,  ere  he  was  ready, 
his  companions  had  been  swept  back  by  the  onslaught 
and  he  was  alone.  To  draw  up  to  his  ear  and  let  the 
foremost  foe  have  it  for  all  he  was  worth  was  easy, 
but  at  the  same  instant  an  arrow  struck  him  on  the 
right  thigh  un steadying  his  aim,  and  the  next  moment 
that  foremost  foe  was  on  him  and  smote  him  such  a 
blow  on  the  head  with  a  sword,  that,  despite  his  steel 
cap  he  was  nigh  stunned.  And  then,  through  his  hav- 
ing neglected  to  clean  his  sword  after  swimming  a  river, 
it  had  rusted  a  little  in  the  scabbard  and  he  lost  time 
in  drawing  it.  Still,  he  won  through  that  time,  and, 
despite  [continual  anxiety  and  irritation  because  of  the 
behaviour  of  the  Moghul  troops  which  his  uncles  de- 
tached to  help  him,  and  who  would  insist  on  plundering 
and  were  with  difficulty  restrained  from  putting  hon- 


KING-ERRANT  129 

ourable  prisoners  to  death,  he  was  fairly  successful, 
until  a  final  act  of  treachery  threw  him  on  his  beam 
ends,  and  he  was  forced  to  retreat,  fairly  beaten. 

He  was  invited  to  a  parley  by  the  enemy  and  the 
Moghuls  urged  him  to  accept  the  invitation,  and  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  to  seize  or  murder  the  leaders. 
Babar  was  indignant.  Such  artifice  and  underhand 
dealing  were,  he  said,  totally  abhorrent  to  his  habits 
and  disposition.  If  he  made  an  agreement  for  peace- 
ful interview,  he  would  not  violate  it. 

Nor  did  he.  But  whether  from  perversity  or  sheer 
stupidity,  his  orders  were  disobeyed,  and  he  found  him- 
self committed  to  battle  in  the  very  heart  of  the  op- 
ponents' defences,  and  without  a  sufficient  force  to  se- 
cure success.  Even  then  he  challenged  Fate,  by  wait- 
ing for  personal  retreat  a  full  hour  or  more,  unwilling, 
as  he  thought,  to  leave  some  of  his  friends  in  danger. 
Finally  news  came  that  having  been  beaten,  at  the  other 
side  of  the  city  in  about  as  much  time  as  milk  takes  to 
boil,  they,  and  half  Babar 's  men,  had  escaped  long  be- 
fore by  another  gate! 

Only  about  twenty  men  were  left  to  the  young  King. 
It  was  no  longer  season  to  tarry;  they  set  off,  a  great 
band  of  the  enemy's  troops  in  full  pursuit. 

And  then  commenced  a  memorable  ride  for  life. 
Man  after  man  dropped  out,  maimed  by  the  flights  of 
following  arrows. 

"  Help !  Help  I "  cried  a  well  known  voice  behind 
him  and  Babar  instantly  turned  bridle  to  aid  a  dear 
friend.  But  those  who  rode  on  either  side  the  young 
King  would  not  have  it ;  this  was  no  time  to  defy  Death. 
It  was  the  time  to  keep  hold  on  Life.  So,  with  strong 
hands  upon  his  reins,  Babar  had  no  choice  but  to  ride 
on.  There  were  but  eight  of  them  left  now ;  a  wearied, 
hurried  band  of  hunted  men  struggling  through  broken 


130  KING-ERRANT 

glens  remote  from  the  beaten  road.  The  enemy  behind 
was  now  out  of  sight,  but,  as  at  sunset  the  fugitives 
passed  into  more  level  ground,  a  shadow  darker  than 
the  shadows  of  evening  should  be,  showed  on  the  plain. 

Placing  his  men  under  cover,  Babar  dismounted,  and 
on  foot,  ascended  an  eminence  to  see  what  this  might 
be.  When  suddenly  from  behind,  a  number  of  horse- 
men showed  coming  towards  them.  It  was  too  dark 
to  see  their  number  but,  doubtless,  it  must  be  a  detach- 
ment in  pursuit,  and  the  only  hope  flight. 

"  There  is  no  use,  sire,''  said  a  noble,  "  going  on  thus. 
They  will  outweary  and  take  us  all.  Better  by  far, 
that  you  and  Kali-Gokultash  choose  two  extra  horses 
from  amongst  us,  your  devoted  servants ;  so  by  keeping 
the  four  horses  at  full  speed  you  may  escape  —  it  is 
a  last  chance." 

But  Babar  shook  his  head.  To  leave  anyone  dis- 
mounted in  the  midst  of  the  enemy  was  beyond  him ;  so 
he  set  his  teeth  and  rode  on. 

"The  Most  High  is  heavier  than  I  am,"  urged  an 
entreating  voice  at  his  elbow,  "  and  it  is  my  lord  they 
want,  not  this  slave  whose  horse  is  fairly  fresh." 

Babar  set  his  teeth  again;  but  he  felt  the  truth  of 
the  words  and  exchanged  horses.  Jan-Kali  could  slip 
aside  down  some  ravine.  They  would  not  follow  him. 
It  was  he,  Zahir-ud-din  Mohamed  Babar,  that  was 
wanted. 

Again  came  the  plea  — "  My  horse  is  fresher  than  the 
Most  High's." 

And  yet  again  Babar  exchanged  steeds. 

On  and  on,  the  horses  flagging,  followers  dropping 
out,  until  but  two  remained  —  the  King  and  his  foster- 
brother  Kali-Gokultash. 

"  Sire !  —  you  had  best  go  on !  "  muttered  the  latter 
as  his  horse  stumbled  and  almost  fell. 


KING-ERRANT  181 

"Whither?"  called  back  the  King  bitterly.  ''Come 
on!  be  it  Life  or  Death,  let  us  meet  it  together." 

And  ever  and  ever,  as  they  went  on  blindly,  he 
paused  to  look  back,  to  wait     .     .     . 

And  once,  when  he  looked  back  there  was  no  one  near 
at  hand.  Only  in  the  far  distance,  coming  closer  and 
closer,  dark  figures  —  were  there  two  or  more  ? 

But  now,  alone,  hopeless,  the  worst  seemed  over. 
Babar  dug  spurs  into  his  horse,  weary  but  willing,  and 
was  off  with  renewed  vigour  in  his  veins.  It  was  him- 
self against  the  world  once  more!  He  would  fight  it 
out  to  the  end  —  the  bitter  end! 

It  was  now  dark  and  before  him  lay  a  hill.  If  he 
could  reach  it,  and  dismount,  he  might  trust  to  his  own 
nimbleness  in  climbing.  But  his  horse  was  dropping, 
and  two  of  the  pursuers  were  within  bowshot,  ere  he 
could  fling  himself  from  his  steed  on  rising  ground  and 
dash  up  a  glen  to  the  right.  He  did  not  pause  to  shoot, 
though  he  had  arrows  in  his  quiver.  A  few  of  these  he 
had  stuck  in  his  belt  as  he  flung  off  his  accoutrements 
piece-meal ;  they  were  for  use  at  the  last  —  the  very 
last! 

But  voices  followed  him;  eager,  protesting  voices. 
They  were  no  enemies ;  neither  were  they  friends.  But 
they  could  not  leave  a  King  in  such  a  desolate  situa- 
tion Let  him  confide  in  them  and  he  might  yet  find 
safety.  V 

It  was  a  desperate  chance ;  still  it  was  a  chance.  And  ^ 
there  were  but  two  of  them.  One  brave  man  could 
surely  keep  them  in  check  —  or  kill  them  before  he  died. 
Babar  pulled  up,  went  back  to  his  horse  and  faced 
Fate.  So,  all  that  night,  they  rode  together,  and  when 
dawn  came,  one  of  the  troopers  commandeered  some 
loaves  of  bread.  All  that  day  they  lay  watchfully  in 
hiding,  and  when  night  came  they  passed  on  to  a  half- 


132  KING-ERRANT 

ruined  house  on  the  outskirts  of  a  town.  Here  the 
troopers  brought  Babar  an  old  fur  coat ;  which  was  wel- 
come, for  the  nights  were  bitterly  cold.  They  also 
brought  him  a  mess  of  boiled  millet-flour  pottage,  which 
he  ate  and  found  wonderfully  comfortable. 

So  comfortable,  that  having  lit  a  fire,  Babar  actually 
fell  asleep  beside  it,  despite  his  imminent  danger,  de- 
spite his  distrust  of  his  comrades  who  were  for  ever 
whispering  amongst  themselves.  But  he  was  outwea- 
ried  after  three  nights'  riding,  and  two  days  of  watchful 
hiding.  Indeed  when  they  roused  him  at  dawn  on  the 
pretext  that  there  were  spies  about,  and  that  a  change 
was  imperative,  he  was  so  spent  and  outdone  that  he 
felt  inclined  to  bid  them  do  their  worst,  or  leave  him  to 
his  fate.  Yet  he  followed  them  dully,  to  a  garden  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town  —  as  well  die  there  as  else- 
where. 

But  it  was  a  primrose  dawn,  with  a  promise  of  bril- 
liant sunshine,  and  the  garden,  partially  walled,  held  a 
few  flowers,  a  few  birds. 

It  needed  no  more  to  re-arouse  vitality,  and  Babar, 
with  fresh  vigour  in  his  veins  after  his  few  hours  of 
sleep,  began  to  emerge  from  the  slough  of  despondency 
in  which  he  had  passed  the  last  three  days.  These 
would-be  guides  of  his  were  doubtless  traitors;  could 
he  escape  them? 

The  day  passed  on  to  noon.  Babar,  in  a  corner  of 
the  garden,  performed  his  religious  ablutions  and  re- 
cited his  prayers,  adding  to  them  the  consolations  of 
poetry  by  repeating  the  couplet: 

"Long  or  short  be  your  tenancy  past 
You  must  quit  the  Palace-of-Life  at  last." 

That  was  a  self-evident  proposition,  and  as  such  gave 


KING-ERRANT  133 

his  simple,  clear-sighted  soul  much  comfort.  So  much 
so,  that  he  fell  asleep  under  the  trees,  and  dreamt  a 
dream  of  victory  and  triumph. 

From  which  he  awoke  to  find  three  men  standing 
over  him,  to  hear  whispers  of  how  best  to  seize  and 
throttle  him. 

To  spring  to  his  feet  and  face  them  did  not  take  long. 

"  Ill-begotten,  treacherous  hounds ! "  he  cried,  ablaze 
with  anger.  *'  So  canst  thou  dare  when  Babar  sleeps 
—  let  us  see  who  will  lay  hands  on  him  awake !  '* 

The  villains  fell  back;  but  at  that  moment  the  tramp 
of  horsemen  was  heard  beyond  the  garden  wall,  and 
one  of  the  trio  laughed. 

"  Crow  away,  cockerel !  "  he  cried.  ''  Mayhap,  hadst 
thou  trusted  us  at  first  we  might  have  let  thee  escape 
according  to  our  oath.  But  now  is  the  work  of  death 
taken  out  of  our  hands;  for  yonder  comes  a  troop  to 
seize  thee  and  save  our  promise  unbroken." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  to  welcome  the  newcomers, 
then  started.  For  the  horsemen  hurrying  in  to  the  gar- 
den were  not  Babar's  foes,  but  his  friends! 

"  Kutluk !  Babai !  "  cried  the  young  King,  recognis- 
ing two  of  his  most  devoted  adherents.  They  flung 
themselves  from  their  horses. 

''The  King!  Long  live  the  King!"  they  shouted, 
as  bending  the  knee  at  a  respectful  distance  they  rushed 
forward  to  fall  at  the  feet  of  their  dear  leader. 

It  had  been  a  wonderful  ride  for  life;  yet  in  a  way  a 
needless  one,  as  Babar  told  his  uncles  when  he  rejoined 
them.  Since,  had  he  but  known,  as  he  afterwards  dis- 
covered, that  the  following  party  was  not  a  whole  de- 
tachment, but  only  a  band  of  twenty  troopers,  he  and 
his  seven  would  of  course,  have  made  a  stand  and  en- 
gaged them  with  every  hope  of  success. 

Not  that  it  would  have  made  much  difference;  for 


134  KING-ERRANT 

both  the  elder  Khan  and  the  younger  one  had  become 
weary  of  their  expedition,  and  on  news  of  the  Great 
Usbek  raider  Shaibani's  appearance  in  their  country, 
had  retired  in  hot  haste  to  their  dominions. 

So  Babar  once  more  was  at  the  end  of  his  tether. 
The  Moghuls  he  told  his  grandmother,  to  her  great 
dudgeon,  were  no  good  as  conquerors.  Nature  had 
made  them  pillagers,  and  an  inch  of  plunder  was  worth 
more  than  an  ell  of  honour. 

"  He  is  out  of  joint  with  life,"  said  his  mother,  weep- 
ing. 

Old  Isan-daulet  sniffed.  "Try  him  with  a  pretty 
girl,"  she  suggested. 

The  Khanum  shook  her  head.     "  He  is  not  that  sort 

—  he  will  not  even  marry  and  that  is  nigh  shameless  — 
since  he  is  one  and  twenty,  yet  without  a  child.  'Tis 
hard  indeed  on  a  woman  of  my  age  to  have  no  grand- 
child." 

"  Except  Dearest-One's  boy,"  said  the  old  woman, 
her  stern  face  softening.  '*  Lo !  perfidious  barbarian 
though  the  father  be,  I  should  like  to  see  the  child.  It 
should  have  the  makings  in  it  of  a  man  —  from  its 
mother."  And  she  was  silent  for  awhile;  perhaps  she 
was  thinking  of  that  night  in  Samarkand  when  a  girl 
had  waited  patiently  for  worse  than  death.  Then  she 
spoke : 

''  See  you,  daughter !  Your  boy  is  not  all  King,  no 
more  than  he  is  all  my  grandson.  He  hath  material 
for  half-a-dozen  different  persons  in  him  and  he  hath 
not  yet  made  choice  of  which  to  take.     Lo !  —  mayhap 

—  I  have  had  too  big  a  hand  in  the  pease-porridge. 
Let  be  a  bit.  Let  him  do  as  he  likes  for  a  while  and 
if  that  be  to  leave  us  for  the  time  —  so  be  it.  Hurry 
not  God's  work." 

It  was  wise  advice.     None  wiser.     So  for  two  whole 


KING-ERRANT  135 

years,  the  King  was  King-errant  indeed.  Even 
whither  he  went  none  know.  Most  likely  he  fulfilled 
his  boyhood's  desire  to  see  China;  but  this  much  is  cer- 
tain. He  and  a  few  intimate  friends,  not  half-a-dozen 
at  most,  wandered  for  months  and  months.  Over  the 
White  Mountains  likely,  amid  eternal  snows,  across  the 
high  lying  steppes  to  Kashgar,  and  so  onwards. 

Or  perhaps  from  Tashkend  he  may  have  wandered 
over  high  plateaux  and  past  wide  lakes  to  the  Great 
Tian-Shan  mountains.  But  either  way,  from  some  high 
peak,  he  must  have  caught  one  glimpse  at  least  of  a 
sight  never  to  be  forgotten.  The  sight  of  the  wide  plain 
of  Eastern  Turkhestan  lying  like  a  lake  of  pale  amber 
beneath  an  encircling  rim  of  snowy  pearls,  that  change 
to  rubies  in  the  sunset.  Marvellous  indeed!  All 
around  the  everlasting  hills  contemptuous  of  man  and 
his  finite  work,  glittering  icily  on  that  ever-present  haze 
of  dust,  which  eflfaced  alike,  the  sand  of  the  central 
desert,  and  the  faint  fringe  of  cultivation  on  the  skirts 
of  the  hills.  Over  a  thousand  feet  of  golden  dust-pall 
covering  the  corpses  of  the  six  sand-buried  :cities  of 
Khotan ! 

Buried  when,  and  how?  And  wherefore,  in  God's 
name,  did  humanity  found  its  houses  on  the  Moving 
Sands? 

Fine  stimulation  here,  for  the  imagination  of  a  poet 
born. 

Babar  must  have  sat  and  looked,  sat  and  learnt  from 
the  slow  invincible  march  of  the  sand  waves  piled  by 
the  desert  winds,  something  of  the  strength  of  patience. 
Slow  and  sure.  Under  the  gentle  call  of  a  summer 
breeze,  mayhap,  one  sand  atom  shifting  place;  then  an- 
other and  another.  But  in  the  end,  a  high-piled  wave, 
ready  to  fall  over  and  engulf  what  lay  beyond,  when 
the  whistle  of  the  winter  winds  rang  over  the  wastes, 


136  KING-ERRANT 

rousing  the  hidden  devil  in  those  harmless  sand  grains, 
to  whirls  of  death. 

Shifting,  shifting;  never  still  for  a  second.  Unearth- 
ing there,  burying  here. 

With  v^hat  end? 

And  doubtless  Babar  heard  the  oft  told  tale  of  the 
Muazzim  of  Kar,  and  of  the  minaret  of  the  mosque 
which  the  sand  can  never  hide  for  long;  which  even  in 
these  later  days  the  dry  biting  winds  of  the  desert  lay 
bare,  ever  and  anon,  until  the  golden  final  of  its  blue 
dome  shines  bright  as  ever  over  the  wide  plain. 

Perhaps, —  being  a  poet  born  —  he  may  have  tried  to 
put  the  legend  into  verse  with  better  success  than  the 
following : 

The  Preacher  preached;  his  words  were  austere 

So  was  his  Life.     "  Oh !  sinners,  hear ! 

I  oft  have  warned  you  —  oft  and  amain, 

Gentle  and  stern;  yet  all  in  vain. 

From  off  my  feet  by  order  of  God 

Shake  I  the  dust  in  which  I've  trod. 

I  rend  my  garments,  go  on  my  way. 

Not  for  my  soul  His  Judgment  Day. 

No  more  I  preach,  no  more  will  I  warn; 

Wait  till  the  resurrection  morn !  " 

He  left  the  pulpit;  garments  he  rent; 

Forth  from  the  Lord's  own  House  he  went. 

"Thou  com'st  with  me,"  he  said  as  he  strode 

Past  the  Muazzim.     "  Thine  the  road 

Of  Mercy  too."    The  singer  bowed, 

Bit  at  his  lips,  then  said  aloud: 
"The  Grace  of  God  I  cannot  gainsay. 

Fain  would  I  go,  fain  would  I  stay, 

Once  more  Pd  waken  sinners  to  prayer." 

Frowning  the  Priest  said  "  Fool !  beware 

Our  God  is  Firei    He  burns  and  He  rends, 


KING-ERRANT  137 

Message  of  Peace,  once  only  sends." 
The  singer  shivered.     "  So  be  it,  yet 
Prayers  must  be  called  from  the  minaret. 
Yet  once  again  singing  must  rise 
Out  of  the  night  to  dawning  skies." 
The  Preacher  spat.     "  It  lies  on  thy  head." 
Gripped  at  his  purse;  smiled  as  he  fled. 

The  minaret  was  slender  and  high, 
Blue  was  its  dome;  blue  like  the  sky. 
Its  gilded  finial  shone  like  a  star 
Over  the  sinful  town  of  Kar. 
The  singer  climbed  its  narrowing  stair. 
Stood  in  his  place,  then  breathed  a  prayer: 
'O  God,  most  great,  no  atom  of  sand 
Slips  through  Thy  Fingers*  grip;  Thy  Hand 
Heeds  not  man's  worth.    Thou  fillest  his  need. 
Wake  those  who  sleep,  Dear  God  I  plead ! " 

No  star,  no  moon,  the  gloom  of  the  night 

Making  the  snow  peaks  rim  with  light 

The  purpling  sky,  the  darkening  world. 

Was  it  a  sand  grain  sharp  that  whirled 

To  touch  the  watcher  keen  on  his  cheek? 

Waiting  so  patient  until  a  streak 

Of  cold  grey  dawn  should  come  to  the  sky 

Bringing  the  time  for  clamant  cry 

Ulsul-lah-to-khair-un-mun-nun-nu! 

Sleepers!  awake!    Prayer  time  has  come  to  you! 

Awake!    Far  better  Prayer  than  Sleep  to  you! 

Ul-sul-lah-to-khair-un-mun-nun-nu !  '* 

The  night  was  silent:  that  was  a  gust 

Wind  hot  as  fire,  laden  with  dust. 

The  singer  wiped  salt  tears  from  his  eyes  — 

God!  if  the  sand-storm  should  arise. 

The  storm  of  sand  that  comes  like  a  pall 

Gliding  soft  as  snow  flakes  to  fall 


138  KING-ERRANT 

On  good,  on  bad.     "  Oh  !  sleepers  awake ! 
Waken  and  fly !  "    His  voice  could  make 
Small  sound  against  the  sound  of  the  storm 
Whistling  the  sand  grains,  "Rise  and  form 
In  serried  order !  carry  the  town ! 
Bury  each  fool,  knave,  sinner,  clown. 
Who  sleeps  unheeding  God's  gracious  grace, 
Mercy  is  tired.     Go !  leave  no  trace 
Of  saint  or  sinner  within  this  place." 

The  singer  fought  for  breath  as  he  prayed. 
"  Lord !  give  me  one  more  chance,"  he  said. 
And  lo !  the  sand-storm  faltered  away ; 
Still  as  the  grave  the  city  lay. 
The  singer  he  sang  as  never  before, 
Piercing  through  gateway,  wall  and  door 
The  clamant  cry.     "  Oh  !  sleepers  rise ! 
Better  is  prayer  than  sleep !     Be  wise !  " 
Awakened  all;  they  saw  and  they  fled 
Forth  from  the  town,  bewildered 
Forth  from  the  town,  bewildered 
To  seek  for  refuge  far  from  the  sands 
Out  of  the  wind.     But  still  he  stands 
And  still  he  sings.     Perchance  there  be  one 
Soul  in  the  town  who  might  be  won ! 
The  storm  fresh-gathered  swept  on  its  task^ 
Covered  all  things  with  deadly  mask 
Of  sand  high-piled  like  waves  of  the  sea 
Till  there  was  naught  save  sand  to  see. 
No  soul  was  left ;  no  need  for  him  more ! 
Downwards  he  crept.     He  found  the  door 
Was  blocked  by  sand  waves  !     Merciful  Heav'n ! 
Not  for  his  soul  was  ransom  given ! 
So  back  he  went  to  the  minaret 
—  Stood  in  the  wind,  the  sandy  fret  — 
Giving  the  call.     It  echoes  yet 
O'er  wastes  of  sand  when  the  sun  has  set. 
When  shifting  winds  in  gusts  and  in  whirls 


KING-ERRANT  139 

Part  of  the  dead  town's  shroud  unfurls, 

When  dimly  blue  the  minaret  shows 

Dim  as  a  lamp  its  finial  glows, 

And  soft  and  low  and  faint  as  a  sigh 

Comes  to  the  ear  that  clamant  cry, 

Ul'Sul-lah-to-khair-un-mun-nun-nu! 

Awake!  Awake  I  Prayer  time  has  come  to  you! 

Awake!  Better  Prayer  than  Sleep  to  you! 

Ul-sul-lah-to-khair-un-mun-nun-nu ! " 


BOOK    II 

BLOSSOM    TIME 

1504    TO     1511 


CHAPTER  I 

*' Youth  asked  the  lark, 
*Why  dost  thou  sing 

When  clouds  are   darkling?' 

Replied  the  lark, 
'Behind  the  dark 

The  light  is  sparkling.' 

Youth  begged  the  Hours 

Death  not  to  bring 
Though  clouds  were  lowering. 
Replied  the  Hours, 
*In  Heaven's  bowers 

Roses  are  flowering.' " 

"  To-day  I  will  shave,"  said  Babar  with  conviction ; 
and  his  long,  fine  fingers  felt  his  rather  ragged  young 
beard  reflectively. 

He  was  altogether  a  bit  ragged  after  his  long  wan- 
derings. But  he  had  come  back  from  them  wiser, 
steadier  in  mind,  still  stronger  in  body.  The  record  of 
years  of  clean,  hard  living  showed  in  his  bright  hazel 
eyes,  and  the  general  alertness  of  his  lithe  young  body. 

But  he  was  ragged!  The  brilliant  June  sunshine 
poured  down  on  the  sorry  encampment  set  out  on  the 
summer  pasturage  of  the  high  alps  of  Ilak,  and  revealed 
the  rents  and  patches  of  the  two  tents  which  were  all 
that  Babar  possessed;  his  own,  terribly  tattered  in  its 
royalty,  reserved  for  his  mother's  use;  a  common  felt 
tilt,  flexible  in  its  cross-poles,  for  his  own. 

And  then  his  followers!  Some  two  hundred  in  all; 
mostly  on  foot  with  brogues  to  them:  blanket  frocks 
over  their  shoulders ;  clubs  in  their  hands.  A  miserable 
court,  indeed,  for  a  Prince  of  the  Blood  Royal! 

143 


144  KING-ERRANT 

Yet  the  sense  of  Kingship  rose  stronger  than  ever  in 
the  young  mind. 

"  Yea !  I  will  be  shaven ! "  he  said,  magisterially,  and 
summoned  the  court  barber.  He  came  running  bare- 
foot with  a  tin  basin. 

"  There  should  be  ceremonials  and  entertainments," 
said  the  Khanum,  his  mother,  plaintively.  "  Even  at 
my  brothers'  first  shavings  there  were  ever  illuminations 
and  f eastings,  and  thou  art  King;  but  what  will  you, 
here  in  the  wilderness  ?  " 

Babar  laughed.  "  One  King  is  as  like  another  King 
as  split  peas,  when  there  is  lather  to  his  face,  mother- 
ling;  so  quick,  barber,  image  me  to  Sulaiman-the-Wise, 
or  Haroun-ul-Raschid.  Lo!  I  could  be  Emperor  as 
well  as  they,  were  fate  but  kind." 

So,  out  in  the  June  sunshine,  the  young  man  sat 
while  the  white  lather  foamed  up  into  his  eyes  and  made 
them  smart. 

"  Have  a  care  I  slave,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Lo !  I  shall 
see  things  cloudy  —  and  I  would  fain  see  clear." 

See  clear!  Aye!  that  was  what  he  wanted.  The 
past  was  leaving  him  —  with  his  beard!  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  that.  Never  again  would  he  quarrel 
possession  of  that  sweet  valley  on  the  extreme  limits  of 
the  habitable  world.  He  would  go  farther  afield;  how 
far  depended —  On  what?  On  himself  chiefly.  So 
for  the  present  he  was  on  his  way  to  Khorasan,  the  cen- 
tre of  civilisation. 

Ay!  Bare  feet  and  blanket  frocks  were  well  enough 
in  boyhood;  but  when  a  man  came  to  his  own  there 
were  other  Kingships  to  be  fought  for  besides  those 
which  involved  a  temporal  throne.  There  was  King- 
ship in  thought.  Kingship  in  Art ;  a  dozen  or  more  King- 
ships ready  to  be  gripped. 

The  razor  sweeping^  backwards  and  forwards,  seemed 


KING-ERRANT  145 

to  be  shaving  away  all  the  disappointments  of  his  past 
life;  he  leapt  to  his  feet  when  the  business  was  over 
and  stretched  his  strong  young  arms  out  as  if  to  em- 
brace the  whole  world. 

**Lo!  I  feel  a  new  man.  I  am  ready  for  anything  — 
for  everything ! '' 

So,  as  he  stood  there,  the  memory  —  never  very  far 
distant  from  his  mind  in  his  moments  of  exaltation  — 
of  the  Crystal  Bowl  of  Life  came  back  to  him  and  he 
sang  the  last  verse,  his  full  voice  rolling  away  among 
the  hills: 

"Clear  Crystal  Bowl,  I  laugh  as  I  quaff. 
Bring  me  Lifers  whole !    I  won't  take  the  half ! 
Crystal  Bowl,  I  bid  thee  bring  to  me 
Joy,  Grief,  Life,  Death." 

"Where  didst  learn  that  song,  sonling?"  said  his 
mother,  fondly.  "  And  how  well  thou  singest  now ! 
Thou  hast  learnt  much  of  late,  Babar." 

"  I  learnt  it,"  replied  her  son,  his  face  sobering, 
"  from  my  cousin  Gharib.  Dost  know,  motherling,"  he 
added  swiftly,  the  light  coming  back  to  his  eyes,  "  I 
learnt  more  of  him  than  I  wist  at  the  time.  Some- 
times I  think  I  owe  all  to  him." 

"  All  ?  "  echoed  the  Khanum,  hurt.  "  Dost  owe  noth- 
ing to  me  —  or  at  least  to  thy  grandmother?" 

Babar's  face  showed  whimsically  reverent.  "  Oh, 
yea !  Oh,  yea !  "  he  assented  readily ;  "  I  owe  much  to 
my  revered  grandparent ;  yet  at  this  present  it  shows  but 
little." 

And  he  pointed  to  the  two  ragged  tents,  the  two  hun- 
dred tatterdemalions.  "  I  would  I  were  a  tulip  at 
times,"  he  added  irrelevantly,  as  he  flung  himself  down 
on  the  grass  that  was  all  starred  with  the  blood-red 


146  KING-ERRANT 

blossoms.  "Think  of  it,  motherling!  To  lie  cosy  all 
winter  at  your  own  heart,  and  when  the  sun  has 
warmed  the  world  to  unfurl  your  banner  and  flaunt  it 
independent  —  disobedient,  if  you  choose!" — he  rolled 
over  on  his  stomach  to  look  clear  into  one  ruby  cup  — 
"  Yea !  little  one !  "  he  said  patronisingly.  "  Rightly  art 
thou  called  *  na  farmdnj^  Thou  boldest  thine  own  treas- 
ure secure,  caring  for  none  —  yet  will  I  touch  it  with 
my  hand,"  and  the  tip  of  his  long  finger  dived  into  the 
chalice  to  touch  the  stiff  stamens,  and  come  out  all  cov- 
ered with  pale,  yellow  pollen.  "  An  augury ! "  he  said 
gravely,  as  he  smeared  his  forehead  with  the  powder  of 
life.  "Lo!  I  am  marked  like  a  Hindu  —  I  shall  con- 
quer Hind  yet." 

"  God  forgive  thee,  child,"  exclaimed  his  mother  has- 
tily. "  Say  not  such  things  —  they  tempt  Providence. 
Even  not  thyself  to  an  idolater." 

Babar  looked  contrite.  "  Yet  if  I  conquer  Hind,  I 
cannot  kill  all  my  subjects,"  he  replied  thoughtfully. 
"  There  is  a  puzzle  for  thee,  motherling  —  how  to  be 
true  Mussulman  and  yet  not  a  fool  ?  " 

His  mother  looked  at  him  and  shook  her  head.  Dear 
son  as  he  was,  always  loving,  always  affectionate,  he 
had  a  bad  habit  of  getting  away  from  her  ken  mentally 
and  bodily.  It  all  came  of  leading  such  a  wandering 
life.  If  only  he  would  marry  and  settle  down.  But 
there  seemed  no  chance  of  either. 

Yet  Fate  held  the  latter  to  close  quarters.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  that  shaving  of  his  beard,  that  setting  aside 
once  and  for  all  of  his  boyish  aspirations  had  had  a 
magical  effect  on  Babar's  environments ;  for  within  two 
months,  seated  at  his  ease  in  a  splendid  tent,  he  was 
writing  in  his  diary: 

"  The  Lord  is  wonderful  in  His  might !     That  a  man, 

*  Contempt. 


KING-ERRANT  147 

master  of  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  retainers,  should, 
in  the  space  of  half-a-day,  without  battle,  without  con- 
test, be  reduced  to  give  up  all  to  a  needy  fugitive  like 
myself,  who  had  only  two  hundred  tatterdemalions  at 
his  back  (and  they,  all  in  the  greatest  want)  ;  that  he 
should  no  longer  have  any  power  over  his  own  servants, 
nor  over  his  own  wealth,  nor  even  his  own  life,  was  a 
wonderful  disposition  of  the  Omnipotent ! '' 

Undoubtedly!  And  as  the  enemy  who  was  thus  dis- 
comfited was  no  less  a  person  that  Khosrau-Shah,  the 
man  who  had  so  treacherously  caused  Prince  Baisan- 
ghar  to  be  strangled,  it  is  certain  that  his  lack  of  power 
over  his  own  life  was  a  sore  temptation  to  Babar.  The 
man  undoubtedly  deserved  death:  it  was  indeed  con- 
formable to  every  law,  human  and  divine,  that  such 
should  meet  with  condign  punishment.  But  an  agree- 
ment had  been  entered  into,  so  he  must  be  left  free  and 
unmolested,  and  allowed  to  carry  oflf  as  much  of  his 
personal  property  as  he  could. 

For  Babar  was  no  promise-breaker.  Perhaps  also 
the  memory  of  poor,  miserable  Khosrau's  appearance 
when  this  pompous  man  (who  for  years  had  wanted 
nothing  of  royalty  save  that  he  had  not  actually  pro- 
claimed himself  King)  presented  himself  for  audience 
and  bent  himself  twenty-five  or  twenty-six  times  suc- 
cessively, and  went  and  came  back,  and  went  and  came 
back,  till  he  was  so  tired  that  he  nearly  fell  forward  in 
his  last  genuflection,  may  have  weighed  with  the  keen 
young  observer.  The  man  was  getting  old;  let  him  go 
with  his  sins  upon  his  head. 

So  he  went.  And  Babar  with  the  thirty  thousand  re- 
tainers at  his  back  set  out  promptly  for  Kabul. 

His  paternal  uncle,  its  King,  had  died  leaving  a  young 
son.  A  perfidious  minister  had  ousted  this  boy  from 
the  throne,  but  had  himself  been  assassinated  at  a  grand 


148  KING-ERRANT 

festival.  Thereinafter  all  was  disorder  and  tumult. 
Fitting  opportunity  then  for  a  coup  d'etat. 

So,  over  the  peaks  and  passes,  Babar  at  the  head  of 
a  movable  column  passed  swiftly.  Still  more  swiftly 
—  since  surprise  is  the  essence  of  success  —  when  news 
came  that  the  usurper  for  the  time  being  had  left  Kabul 
at  the  head  of  his  army  to  intercept  another  adversary. 
The  instant  this  information  was  received,  the  young 
leader  gave  his  orders;  within  an  hour  the  force  was 
on  the  march.  A  hill  pass  lay  before  them;  it  must  be 
mastered  ere  dawn;  they  must  go  up  and  up  all  the 
night  through,  the  laden  mules  stumbling  over  the 
stones,  dismounted  troopers  hauling  their  horses  up  rock 
ladders.  A  troublous  time,  indeed;  but  at  last  the  crest 
of  the  hill  was  reached,  and  there,  bright  to  the  South, 
showed  a  star. 

The  young  leader's  heart  leapt  to  his  mouth  — 
Could  it  —  could  it  be  Canopus  ?  —  the  lucky  star  of  the 
conqueror?  The  star  of  which  he  had  read  —  the  star 
he  had  never  seen  before    .     .     . 

"  That  —  that  cannot  be  Soheil,"  he  said  almost 
timorously. 

"  It  is  Soheil,  Most  High,"  replied  Baki  Cheghaniani 
in  a  courtier's  voice;  then  repeated  pompously  the  well 
known  verse: 

"  How  far  dost  thou  shine,  Soheil f 
And  where  dost  thou  rise? 
Who  knows?    But  this  cannot  fail: 
Thy  light  brings  luck  to  the  eyes 
Who  see  it  and  cry,  *  All  hail ! 

Soheil  r'' 

"  Gentlemen !  "  rang  out  Babar's  jubilant  young  voice, 
cutting  the  clear  night  air  like  a  knife.  "  Let  us  give  it 
all  we  can    .    .    .     !    All  haW I—  Soheil !'' 


KING-ERRANT  149 

''All  hail!  Soheilf'  The  cry  clamoured  round  the 
rocks  and  surged  up  from  the  ravines  where  men  were 
still  striving  upwards;  while  on  that  downward  path  to 
the  pleasant  valleys  below  where  spear  points  were  al- 
ready beginning  to  cluster,  the  troopers  paused  to  echo 
and  re-echo: 

"All  hail!    Soheil!" 

And  Babar's  star  was  veritably  in  the  ascendant. 
Within  a  month  —  yet  once  more  without  battle,  with- 
out contest  —  he  had  gained  complete  possession  of 
Kabul  and  Ghazni  with  the  countries  and  provinces  de- 
pendent thereon. 

It  had  been  almost  unbelievable  success  ever  since 
that  day  when  on  the  uplands  of  Ilak,  he  had  shaved  off 
his  beard  and  set  aside,  once  and  for  all,  his  childish 
hopes  and  aims! 

Really,  it  was  rather  quaint!  The  thought  of  it,  with 
Its  hint  of  imagination,  its  something  beyond  the  dull 
routine  of  the  inevitable,  added  zest  to  the  young  King's 
almost  rapturous  appreciation  of  his  new  dominions. 

To  begin  with  Kabul  was  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
habitable  world.  That  was  a  great  point  in  its  favour. 
Then  it  was  in  the  fourth  climate;  and  so  of  course  its 
gardens  were  perfection.  Its  warm  and  its  cold  dis- 
tricts were  close  together;  in  a  single  day  you  could  go 
to  a  place  where  snow  never  falls,  and  in  the  space  of 
two  astronomical  hours  you  might  reach  a  spot  where 
snow  lay  always  (except  now  and  then  when  the  sum- 
mer happened  to  be  peculiarly  hot). 

Then  the  fruits!  Grapes,  pomegranates,  apricots, 
peaches,  pears,  apples,  quinces,  jujubes,  damsons,  wal- 
nuts, almonds,  to  say  nothing  of  oranges  and  citrons! 
The  wines,  also,  were  strong  and  intoxicating;  indeed, 
that  produced  on  the  skirts  of  one  mountain  was  cele- 
brated for  its  potency.     This,  however,  was  only  a  mat- 


150  KING-ERRANT 

ter  of  hearsay  since  Babar  was  still  a  tee-totaler;  and 
as  the  verse  says: 

"  The  drinker  knows  the  virtue  of  wine 
Which  those  who  are  sober  can't  divine/' 

Then  the  honey  was  delicious,  the  number  of  bee- 
hives extraordinary,  and  the  climate  itself  was  so  ex- 
tremely delightful  that  in  this  respect  there  was  no 
other  such  place  in  the  known  world. 

But  it  was  the  gardens,  after  all,  which  made  Kabul 
what  it  was,  a  place  that  filled  the  imagination  with  joy. 
Years  and  years  afterwards  the  mere  thought  of  them 
was  to  make  Babar  homesick  almost  to  tears ;  now  every 
moment  of  time  he  could  spare  was  spent  on  the  skirts 
of  the  Shah-Kabul  hill  where  terraces  rise  one  above 
the  other  to  touch  the  Summer  Palace  of  the  New  Year. 
It  was  early  October;  the  plane  trees  were  dropping 
their  golden  leaves,  the  peaches  were  crimson  and  pale 
red,  the  vines  vied  with  each  other  in  vivid  colouring. 
It  was  all  so  much  pure  joy  to  the  young  King,  and  he 
passed  on  his  content  to  all.  His  dearest  mother  was 
housed  as  she  never  had  been  before.  And  when  old 
Isan-daulet  came,  just  to  have  a  peep  at  her  grandson's 
success,  he  lodged  her  in  the  New  Year's  palace  where 
the  old  lady  could  have  her  fill  of  the  garden.  Since, 
quaintly  enough,  it  was  from  the  ancient  desert-born 
dame  that  Babar  inherited  his  keen  delight  in  flow- 
ers. Kasim-Beg  was  back  too,  and  so  was  Dost-Ali, 
his  oldest  friend  amongst  the  nobles  of  Andijan;  but 
Kambar-Ali  had  left;  he  was  a  thoughtless  and  rude 
talker  and  the  more  polished  courtiers  of  Kabul  could 
not  put  up  with  his  manners.  Not  that  he  was  a  great 
loss,  for  besides  talking  idly  —  and  those  who  talk  per- 
sistently cannot  avoid  at  times  saying  foolish  things  — 


KING-ERRANT  151 

his  wits  were  but  skin  deep,  and  he  had  a  muddy  brain. 

There  was  but  one  fly  in  the  honey,  and  that  was  the 
desire  of  all  Babar's  female  relations  that  he  should 
marry.  There  was  justice,  he  felt,  in  his  mother's  claim 
for  grandchildren.  Undoubtedly  it  was  his  duty; 
but    .     .     . 

He  was  too  good-natured,  however,  to  resist  making 
everyone  as  happy  as  he  was  himself,  especially  after 
old  Isan-daulet  arrived  with  a  bride  in  her  pocket; 
so,  before  he  quite  realised  the  magnitude  of  the  affair, 
he  was  duly  wedded  to  yet  another  cousin,  a  half-sister 
of  dead  Prince  Baisanghar.  She  was  some  years  older 
than  her  groom  and  very,  very  beautiful. 

But  Babar  came  out  from  the  bridal-chamber  with  a 
stern,  set  mouth  and  went  straight  to  his  mother. 

"  Tell  her  to  say  no  more  of  Dearest-One,''  he  said 
briefly ;  "  or  there  will  be  trouble.  And  'twere  as  well 
if  she  left  Baisanghar  in  peace  also.  She  loved  him, 
doubtless  —  but  —  but  so  did  I."  His  voice  softened 
over  the  last  words. 

Trouble,  however,  was  not  to  be  avoided.  Babar 
made  no  more  complaints ;  possibly  because  he  gave  few 
opportunities  for  fresh  injury. 

His  mother  wept  and  scolded  in  vain.  That  hurt 
him;  but  for  his  cousin-wife  he  cared  not  at  all.  He 
was  proud;  he  could  not  understand  a  woman's  petty 
spite,  especially  when  shown  to  him,  a  good-looking 
young  King  in  the  zenith  of  success. 

"  We  do  not  agree,"  he  said  gloomily.  "  Lo !  it  is 
true  what  Saadi  saith : 

"  In  a  good  man's  house  a  cross-grained  wife 
Makes  hell  upon  earth  with  ill-tempered  strife." 

Mayhap  if  we  part  we  may  come  together  again  in  bet- 


152  KING-ERRANT 

ter  fashion;  and  sure  I  pray  God  that  such  a  thing  as 
a  shrew  be  not  left  in  the  world/' 

He  would  not  acknowledge  any  fault  on  his  side. 
Perhaps  there  was  none.  Anyhow  he  was  determined 
this  year  of  good  fortune  should  not  be  marred  by  silly 
domestic  squabbles.  So,  with  affectionate  farewells  to 
his  mother,  whom  he  left  determined  to  bring  her  choice 
to  reason,  he  set  off  in  light-hearted  fashion  to  make 
that  irruption  into  Hindustan  which  he  had  threatened 
when  he  had  marked  his  forehead  with  pollen  dust. 
He  was  not  strong  enough  as  yet,  his  army  was  not  yet 
sufficiently  disciplined  for  any  attempt  at  real  conquest; 
but  he  meant  at  least  to  cross  the  river  Sind  and  set 
foot  on  Indian  soil.  The  expedition,  however,  fizzled 
out  into  a  mere  plundering  raid  along  the  western  bank 
of  the  Indus.  But  Babar  at  least  saw  India,  getting  his 
first  glimpse  of  it  across  the  wide  waters  and  sandbanks 
of  that  great  stream.  He  was  deeply  impressed  by  the 
sight.  At  some  places  the  water  seemed  to  join  the 
sky;  at  others  the  farther  bank  lay  reflected  in  inverted 
fashion  like  a  mirage.  And  he  saw  other  strange  and 
beautiful  things  also.  Once  between  this  water  and  the 
heavens  something  of  a  red  appearance  like  a  crepuscule 
cloud  was  seen,  which  by  and  by  vanished,  and  so  con- 
tinued shifting  till  he  came  near. 

And  then  with  a  whirr  of  thousands  —  nay!  not  ten 
thousand  nor  twenty  thousand  wings,  but  of  wings  ab- 
solutely beyond  computation  and  innumerable  —  an  im- 
mense flock  of  flamingoes  rose  into  the  air,  and  as  they 
flew,  sometimes  their  red  plumes  showed  and  sometimes 
they  were  hidden. 

So,  with  his  mind  stocked  with  endless  new  ideas, 
for  he  had  been  struck  by  astonishment  —  and  in- 
deed there  was  room  for  wonder  in  this  new  world 
where  the  grass  was  different,  the  trees  different,  the 


KING-ERRANT  153 

wild  animals  of  a  different  sort,  the  birds  of  a  differ- 
ent plumage,  the  very  manners  of  the  men  different  — 
he  returned  in  early  summer  to  Kabul. 

But  here  he  once  more  found  trouble.  There  was  an 
epidemic  of  measles  in  the  town  and  one  of  the  first 
victims  was  his  cousin-wife.  He  was  vaguely  dis- 
tressed; mostly  it  is  to  be  feared  because  of  his  mother 
who  had  nursed  her  daughter-in-law  devotedly.  Partly 
also  from  a  remembrance  of  his  own  parting  wish. 
Yes!  it  was  distinctly  wrong  to  say  such  ill-advised 
things,  for  if  anything  did  happen  one  always  regretted 
one's  own  words.     And  yet  one  had  meant  nothing. 

"  I  will  marry  again,  motherling !  I  will  indeed ;  but 
this  time  let  me  choose  for  myself,"  he  said  consolingly 
as  the  fond  woman  clung  to  him  in  mingled  joy  at  see- 
ing him  again,  and  grief  at  the  failure  of  her  schemes. 
Not  that  they  would  have  come  to  much,  likely,  even 
had  the  cousin-wife  not  died ;  for  she  had  been  a  hand- 
ful doubtless,  all  those  months. 

"  Lo !  motherling,"  said  her  son  once  more,  "  let  us 
forget  the  mistake  for  a  time.  Thy  hands  are  hot, 
thou  art  outwearied.  Lie  so  among  the  cushions,  and 
I  will  sing  to  thee." 

She  loved  to  hear  him  sing,  and  even  in  the  old 
Turkhoman  ballads,  she  did  not  —  like  old  Isan-daulet  — 
claim  to  have  them  fairly  bawled.  This  new  soft  fash- 
ion was  utterly  sweet.  So  was  her  son's  close-shaven 
chin.  He  had  gone  far  from  the  wild  Turkhoman 
tents;  far  ahead  of  her;  God  only  knew  how  much 
farther  he  was  to  go. 

"Motherling!  Thou  art  not  so  well  to-night,"  he 
said  with  solicitude  as  he  noticed  how  fever-bright  were 
her  kind,  worn  eyes.  "  I  will  bid  the  Court  physician 
send  for  him  of  Khorasan.  He  will  likely  know  all 
methods;  for  I  cannot  have  thee  ill,  my  motherling." 


154  KING-ERRANT 

The  Khanum  held  him  fast  with  her  hot  hands.  "  I 
care  not,  sonling/'  she  sobbed  suddenly ;  **  so  long  as 
thou  art  here  to  the  last  —  the  best  —  the  bravest 
son—'' 

'*  But  I  ?  "  he  said  in  tender  raillery,  though  a  sudden 
fear  gripped  at  his  heart.  "  Whom  have  I  in  the  v^ide 
world  but  thee,  mother?  Lo!  thou  art  the  one  thing 
feminine  left  to  me  after  all  these  years."  And  his 
eyes  grew  stern  as  he  thought  of  that  dearest  Dearest- 
One  away  in  far  Samarkand.  Thank  God  she  had  a 
child. 

"  Have  I  not  always  said  so  ? "  wailed  his  mother. 
"Have  I  not  bid  thee  have  children?  Ah,  Babar!  if  I 
live,  promise  thou  wilt  marry." 

"  I  will  marry  either  way,  motherling,"  he  said. 
"  Lo  I  I  promise  that ;  so  cease  thy  tears  and  try  to  sleep. 
Thou  wilt  be  better  by  morn." 

But  morning  found  the  palace  hushed  with  the  hush 
of  mortal  sickness.  There  was  no  longer  any  doubt 
that  the  Khanum  had  contracted  measles  in  its  worst 
repressed  form,  and  regret,  vague  almost  unreasonable 
regret,  seized  on  Babar.  He  was  responsible.  It  was 
his  fault.  His  mother  had  nursed  his  wife.  The 
Khorasan  physician  came  and  ordered  water-melons ;  he 
of  Kabul  let  blood.  And  Babar  sat  dry-eyed  beside 
his  mother,  holding  her  hot  hand.  She  did  not  know 
him.  Those  words  of  hers,  begging  him  to  marry  had 
been  her  last  to  him.  His  to  her  his  promise  that  he 
would  marry.  Even  amid  his  dazed  grief  he  remem- 
bered this ;  remembered  it  keenly  as,  when  the  end  came 
in  quiet  unconsciousness,  he  bent  over  her  to  give  the 
last  caress  before  Death  claimed  the  body  and  it  lay 
soulless,  impure.  But  she?  She  was  received  into  the 
Mercy  of  God. 

He  said  that  over  and  over  again  to  himself  as,  on 


KING-ERRANT  155 

the  Sunday  morning,  he  put  his  strong  shoulder  under 
the  light  bier  and  carried  it  to  the  Garden  of  the  New- 
Year.  It  was  summer-time  now,  the  roses  were  begin- 
ning to  blow,  the  tulips  were  nigh  over,  but  the  wild 
pansies  were  in  full  blossom.  They  had  dug  a  grave 
under  the  plane  trees  and  here,  after  the  committal 
prayers  had  been  said  and  flowers  strewn,  Babar,  hold- 
ing the  head  and  Kasim,  his  foster  brother,  the  feet, 
laid  the  light,  muslin-swathed,  tinsel-bound  corpse  in 
the  long,  low  niche,  cut  coffin-wise  in  the  side.  His 
voice  scarcely  trembled  at  all  as  he  laid  a  handful  of 
earth  upon  the  breast  with  the  solemn  words  of  ad- 
monition and  hope. 

"  Out  of  the  dust  I  made  you,  and  to  dust  I  return 
you,  to  raise  you  yet  once  more  out  of  the  dust  upon 
the  Day  of  Resurrection." 

But  his  eyes  brimmed  with  tears  as,  with  lavish  hand, 
he  scattered  pansy  blossoms  till  the  white  shroud  was 
hidden  by  them. 

Then  without  one  word  he  drew  himself  up  from  the 
grave,  and  taking  a  shovel  worked  his  hardest  to  fill 
in  the  earth. 

Afterwards  he  sat  down  and  looked  out  over  the  val- 
ley. 

When  his  time  came,  he,  also,  would  lie  here.  One 
could  not  desire  a  more  peaceful,  a  more  beautiful  spot. 
But  he  would  have  no  tomb  built  over  him  to  blot  out 
the  blue  sky.  No!  He  and  his  mother  should  rest  to- 
gether till  the  Resurrection  morn  out  in  the  open,  among 
the  birds  and  flowers. 


CHAPTER  II 

I   set  Death's   Door  wide  open   for  thee,   Friend, 

That  thou  might'st  go. 

I  did  not  weep;  I  did  not  even  send 

One  sign  of  woe 

To  follow,  lest  the  way  thou  had'st  to  wend 

The  harder  show. 

But  thou?    Thou  shut'st  the  Door  upon  my  face, 

Thou  hid'st  from  me 

One  tiny  gleam  of  glory  from  the  place 

Where  thou  would'st  be; 

In  this  world  or  the  next  there  is  no  trace 

No  trace  of  thee! 

With  the  swift  family  affection  of  their  clan,  rela- 
tives gathered  round  Babar  in  his  bereavement.  His 
paternal  aunts  came  from  Khorasan,  and  ere  the 
forty  days  of  mourning  were  over,  a  small  cavalcade 
arrived  from  Tashkend.  But  it  brought  an  aggrava- 
tion of  grief;  for  old  Isan-daulet  had  predeceased  her 
daughter  by  a  few  days.  Babar's  uncle,  the  little  Khan, 
had  also  died;  but  beyond  the  fact  that  this  deepened 
the  Shadow-of-Death  which  seemed  to  have  fallen  over 
his  young  life,  it  brought  no  sorrow  to  the  King.  It 
was  different  with  his  grandmother.  With  her  passing 
he  had  veritably  no  feminine  thing  left  to  whom  he 
owed  affection  and  duty,  to  whom  he  could  go  for  com- 
fort and  counsel. 

There  were  his  paternal  aunts,  of  course;  good  crea- 
tures every  one  of  them,  especially  Ak  Begum,  though 
the  others  always  flouted  her  because  she  had  not  mar- 
ried. Which  was  very  unkind,  since  anyone  with  half- 
an-eye  could  see  it  was  because  she  had  devoted  her  life 
to     her     fat,     half-witted     lame     sister.     Poor     Badul- 

156 


KING-ERRANT  157 

jamal-Begum !  What  an  irony  of  fate  it  was  that  she 
had  been  called  that !  The  "  Lady  of  Astonishing- 
Beauty."  But  feminine  names  were  beyond  reason. 
Even  Ak  Begum  —  the  "  Fair  Princess."  What  a  name 
for  that  little  bird-like,  dark  creature  who  twittered  and 
preened  herself  at  every  word. 

Yet  she  was  the  only  one  of  them  who  understood, 
who  gave  the  young  man's  sore  heart  any  comfort  at 
all. 

She  came  to  him,  looking  as  if  no  pin  were  out  of 
place,  so  natty,  with  her  scanty  hair  still  braided  in 
virginal  fashion  on  her  wrinkled  forehead,  and  said  in 
her  high  piping  voice: 

"  Lo,  nephew !  here  are  violets.  A  man  brought  them 
from  the  snows.  Are  they  not  sweet?  Sniff  them! 
Thy  mother  was  ever  so  fond  of  them." 

And  Babar  sniffed  at  them  and  afterwards  took  them 
to  his  mother's  grave.  Yes!  The  Fair  Princess  was 
certainly  his  grandfather's  daughter;  of  the  same  blood 
as  he  was. 

Still,  grief  must  have  its  way,  and  here  it  was  un- 
bounded. Regret  and  remorse  were  mixed  with  it ;  and, 
yet  once  again,  Babar  gave  way  before  the  mental 
strain. 

He  tried  to  resume  his  ordinary  life  and  actually 
started  to  lead  his  army  afield,  but  was  struck  down  with 
a  sort  of  sleeping  sickness.  For  days  no  matter  what 
efforts  they  made  to  rouse  him,  his  eyes  constantly  fell 
back  to  sleep.  Yet  after  a  time  he  pulled  himself  to- 
gether again  and  started  once  more,  but  this  time  with 
no  definite  plan.  Nor  did  he  quite  recover  his  normal 
health  all  that  winter,  which  was  spent  in  half-hearted 
attacks,  and  whole-hearted  forgiveness  of  all  and  sun- 
dry of  his  enemies;  for  it  was  not  his  wish  to  treat 
anyone  harshly.     The  snow  lay  very  deep  that  winter 


158  KING-ERRANT 

in  the  high  glens  and  passes.  At  one  place  off  the  road 
it  reached  up  to  the  horses'  cruppers  and  the  pickets  ap- 
pointed for  the  night-watch  round  the  camp  had  to  re- 
main on  their  horses,  from  sheer  inability  to  dismount. 

Half  the  army  suffered,  and  Babar  himself  had  to  be 
carried  back  to  Kabul,  helpless  with  lumbago.  Mental 
unhappiness  always  seemed  to  affect  his  bodily  health. 
But  spring  comes  early  in  Kabul  and  the  pulse  of  re- 
newed life  began  to  beat  once  more  in  Babar's  veins. 
By  March,  when  the  red  tulips  he  had  planted  there 
were  in  full  bloom  about  his  mother's  grave  in  the  gar- 
den of  the  New  Year,  he  was  once  more  looking  out 
from  that  high  ground  at  the  world  beneath  his  feet, 
and  straining  his  bright  eyes  over  new  horizons. 

One  thing  he  must  do.  He  must  marry.  But  this 
time  he  would  choose  for  himself.  This  time  he  would 
give  himself  a  chance  of  finding  that  new  world  he  had 
seen  when  he  was  a  boy  in  Dearest-One's  eyes.  Poor 
Dearest-One!  He  had  had  letters  from  her  concern- 
ing their  mother's  death,  and  their  pitifulness  had  al- 
most broken  his  heart.  Yet  he  could  do  nothing,  noth- 
ing! She  was  as  one  dead;  only  not  at  peace  like  his 
mother. 

But  she  also  had  urged  marriage.  Yes!  he  must 
marry,  and  no  one  should  have  a  finger  in  the  matri- 
monial pie  but  himself;  least  of  all  his  paternal  aunts. 
If  needs  be  he  would  marry  privately.  The  idea  at- 
tracted him;  he  pondered  over  it.  The  question  arose, 
in  that  case,  whom  he  was  to  choose.  Amongst  the 
well  born,  those  who  lived  in  the  circle  of  distinction 
as  the  phrase  ran,  it  would  be  impossible.  Without  a 
confidante  the  mere  broaching  of  marriage  was  out  of 
the  question. 

And  yet  the  very  idea  of  one  low  born  was  distaste- 
ful to  him. 


KING-ERRANT  159 

So,  as  he  pondered  vaguely  over  possibilities,  an  idea 
came  to  him. 

What  of  the  frightened  girl?    Why  not? 

She  could  not  be  more  than  a  year  or  two  his  senior ; 
if  that,  for  she  had  been  much  younger  than  his  Cousin 
Gharib.  And  her  father  was  dead.  And  she  lived  in 
a  House-of-Rest.  That  is  to  say  if  she  still  lived  —  or 
if  she  was  not  married. 

Bah!  —  he  was  a  fool  to  let  his  fancy  run  so  far. 
Still  he  could  enquire  when  he  went  to  Khorasan  as  he 
meant  to  do  some  time  that  summer.  Meanwhile  a  feel- 
ing of  content  came  to  him;  partly  because  his  imag- 
ination endorsed  the  idea  as  delightfully  sentimental; 
mostly  because  it  postponed  necessity  for  immediate  ac- 
tion. 

And  yet,  when  a  day  or  two  after  a  missive  arrived 
from  his  uncle.  Sultan  Hussain,  begging  for  his  as- 
sistance at  Khorasan  against  the  arch  enemy  and  raider 
Shaibani-Khan  who  threatened  an  inroad,  Babar  felt 
pleased  at  what  seemed  an  order  from  Fate;  especially 
as  the  missive  came  by  the  hands  of  rather  a  quaint  am- 
bassador; namely  by  the  son  of  his  uncle's  professional 
Dreamer-of-Dreams.  To  be  sure  Cousin  Gharib  had 
made  fun  of  the  man's  pretensions;  but  there  was  more 
in  that  sort  of  thing  than  could  be  accounted  for  by 
reason.  Anyhow,  it  was  a  clear  duty  to  set  off  at  once. 
If  Shaibani  was  the  enemy,  then,  if  other  princes  went 
to  the  attack  on  their  feet  it  was  incumbent  on  him  to 
go  if  necessary  on  his  head!  and  if  they  went  against 
him  with  swords,  it  was  his  business  to  go,  were  it  only 
with  stones! 

"The  Most  High  must  have  a  care  of  Kabul  nath- 
less,"  said  wary  old  Kasim.  "  Look  you  the  saying 
runs: 


160  K I N  G  -  E  R  R  A  N  T 

Ten  dervishes  in  one   rug  / 

Lie  comfy,  and  warm,  and  snug, 
But  two  Kings  upon  one  throne  — 
Such  a  thing  never  was  known. 

The  most  High's  brother  —  and  his  cousin — " 

But  Babar  cut  him  short.  He  never  would  listen  to 
suspicions  of  his  own  relations. 

"  I  have  done  nothing,"  he  said,  with  just  that  little 
touch  of  conscious  virtue  that  in  him  was  so  translucent, 
so  simple,  though  in  one  less  artless  it  might  have  been 
offensive,  "  to  provoke  either  of  them  to  hostility ; 
neither  have  they  given  me  ground  for  dissatisfaction." 

Kasim  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  muttered  under 
his  breath  that  it  would  need  the  Day  of  Judgment  to 
make  some  folk  believe  in  sin,  and  applied  himself  to 
seeing  that  the  garrison  left  was  sufficient  to  keep  or- 
der. 

Babar  himself  was  full  of  spirits.  Apart  from  other 
considerations  the  prospect  of,  at  last,  seeing  Herat,  the 
most  civilised  city  in  Central  Asia,  filled  him  with  keen 
interest.  It  was  full,  he  knew,  of  poets,  painters,  phi- 
losophers, and  its  luxuries  were  things  to  speak  of  with 
bated  breath.  In  addition,  he  had  a  pleasant  remem- 
brance of  his  Uncle  Hussain.  It  was  more  than  ten 
years  since  he  had  seen  him  over  in  the  camp  which  had 
struck  him,  the  hardy  barbarian,  with  awe.  Did  the  old 
man  —  old  now  with  a  vengeance  since  he  had  reigned 
a  good  fifty  years  —  still  keep  butting  rams  and  amuse 
himself  with  cock  fighting?  Above  all,  did  he  still  on 
festival  days  put  on  that  small  turban  tied  in  three 
folds,  broad  and  showy,  and  having  placed  a  plume  nod- 
ding over  it  in  that  style  go  to  prayers?  Babar  wrote 
in  his  own  hand  —  in  the  Babari  writing  which  he  had 
just  invented  and  of  which  he  was  vastly  proud  —  a 
letter  to  the  kindly  old  man,  telling  him  that  he  had 


EING-ERRANT  161 

set  out  from  Kabul  and  hoped  to  be  with  him  shortly. 
This  he  entrusted  to  an  ambassador  who  with  the 
Dreamer-of-Dreams  started  express  for  Herat;  he  him- 
self having  a  small  job  on  hand  by  the  way,  in  the  pun- 
ishment of  some  wandering  tribes  to  the  west. 

It  was  not  much  of  a  task;  but  summer  quarters  in 
the  hills  had  a  fascination  for  Babar,  and  he  remained 
on  the  top  of  one  of  the  many  ranges  he  had  to  cross; 
despatching  Kasim-Beg  meanwhile  with  a  body  of 
troops  to  scour  the  countryside  for  rebels. 

There  was  a  sense  of  freedom  about  the  wide  upland 
stretches  of  sweet  grass,  where  flocks  and  herds  grazed 
placidly,  where  flowers  blossomed  by  the  million,  and 
the  tall  fir  forests  edged  the  downward  slopes.  The 
whole  world  of  blue  waving  hills  touched  the  blue  sky. 
One  might  be  adrift  on  a  huge  raft  in  the  River  of 
Life.  Babar  would  dofif  shoes  and  wander  barefoot  for 
hours,  content  with  a  chance  shot  after  an  escaping 
deer,  or  a  chance  following  of  his  own  vagrant  thoughts. 
And  these  often  fled  in  the  direction  of  a  House-of-Rest 
wherein  dwelt  a  frightened  girl.  He  could  not  help  it. 
He  was  made  sentimental  to  his  heart's  core.  Remove 
the  pressure  of  fine  fighting,  of  ardent  ambition,  and 
there  he  was,  ready  to  be  touched  by  pity,  love,  admira- 
tion. And  the  thought  of  the  woman  to  come  was  a 
perpetual  stimulus  to  his  imagination.  The  mere  fact 
that  he  did  not  know  her  name  was  delightful ;  it  took 
from  the  idea  all  trace  of  earth.  And  Babar,  though 
the  very  reverse  of  ascetic  in  his  tastes  and  pleasures, 
had  ever  been  repulsed  by  sensuality.  His  was  the 
Epicurean  enjoyment  of  the  spirit,  as  distinct  from  that 
of  the  mind,  or  that  of  the  body.  So  in  his  thoughts  he 
called  the  woman  he  intended  should  be  his  wife  "  My 
moon/'  which  is  the  eastern  equivalent  of  "  My  queen  "; 
and,  in  easy  dilettante  fashion  wrote  more  than  one  ode 


162  KING-ERRANT 

to  that  luminary.  Most  of  them  were  in  Persian  and 
contained  exactly  the  proper  number  of  feet,  and  rang 
the  appointed  interchanges  of  meaning  and  words  with 
faultless  accuracy.  He  was  quite  proud  of  them,  and 
thought  better  of  them  than  of  the  one  in  Turkhi; 
which,  however,  he  set  to  music  and  sang,  for  his  innate 
good  taste  was  for  ever  breaking  loose  from  scholastic 
tradition.  He  twanged  the  tune  on  a  cithdra  as  he  sat 
on  a  rock  in  the  moonlight  and  felt  quite  light-hearted 
over  his  own  unworthiness ;  it  fitted  so  neatly  into  the 
rhyming  fall     ... 

Moon  of  still  night! 

Whence  the  bright  light 
that  enfolds 
In  its  pure  smile 
Earth's  untold  guile; 
that  upholds 
Silver  in  glow, 
whiter  than  snow, 
this  my  hand 
Tuning  thy  praise? 
Whence  come  thy  rays? 
From  what  land 
Bringest  thou  peace, 
thus  to  release, 
from  its  sin 
Stricken  sad  heart, 
wailing  its  part 
in  Life's  din? 
Lo !  from  God's  sun 
must  thou  have  won 
thy  kind  light. 
Though  I  am  clay, 
watch  me  alway 
through  the  night. 


KING-ERRANT  163 

I  am  of  earth; 
thine  is  the  birth- 
right divine. 
Moon  of  my  soul, 
thine  is  this  whole 
heart  of  mine. 

The  distance  from  Kabul  to  Khorasan  was  over  eight 
hundred  miles;  so  with  even  every-day  marching  the 
journey  would  have  taken  some  time,  and  Babar  was  in 
no  particular  hurry.  Less  so  than  ever  when  news 
came  to  him  with  the  return  of  his  ambassador,  that 
Sultan  Hussain  had  suddenly  died  from  an  apoplectic 
seizure.  At  first  Babar  felt  inclined  to  turn  back. 
His  uncle,  he  knew,  had  left  his  kingdom,  in  unheard 
of  fashion,  to  his  three  legitimate  sons,  in  defiance  of 
the  old  saw  about  the  ten  dervishes,  and  Babar  had  too 
much  experience  to  believe  that  such  an  arrangement 
could  work  satisfactorily.  However  he  had  other  mo- 
tives for  advancing,  and  therefore  he  continued  his 
route,  and,  passing  over  the  last  range  of  high  hills, 
found  himself  in  the  country  where  the  advanced  de- 
tachments of  the  Usbek  force  were  already  raiding. 
This  in  itself  was  an  attraction,  bringing  as  it  did  a 
chance  of  fine  fighting.  He  found  his  cousins,  the  new 
Kings,  encamped,  ready  to  meet  the  advancing  foe  on 
the  Murghab  river;  or  rather  he  found  two  of  them. 
The  third,  from  private  motives  of  pique  had  refused  to 
join  the  confederacy.  This  appeared  to  Babar  to  be  in- 
expressibly mean,  when  everyone  else  had  united  and 
were  sparing  no  efforts  to  oppose  an  enemy  so  formid- 
able as  Shaibani.  He  could  not  understand  how  any 
reasonable  man  could  pursue  a  line  of  conduct  which 
must  after  his  death,  stain  his  fair  fame.  Surely 
everyone  with  the  commonest  grace  would  push  for- 
wards his  career,  so  that,  even  if  closed,  it  would  con- 


164  KING-ERRANT 

duct  him  to  renown  and  glory,  since  fame  is  truly  a 
second  existence? 

These  sentiments,  however,  fine  as  they  were,  did 
not  make  much  mark  on  the  luxurious  camp  on  the 
banks  of  the  MurghaB.  His  cousins  received  Babar 
fairly  well,  though  their  manners  required  some  polish- 
ing up  by  old  Kasim-Beg's  inflexible  rules  of  etiquette. 
Of  course,  the  fact  that  two  of  the  younger  and 
illegitimate  princes  did  not  come  out  as  far  as  they 
ought  to  have  done  to  welcome  their  Kingly  cousin 
was  objectionable;  but  that  might  be  put  down  to  de- 
lay in  starting  due  to  an  over-night  debauch,  rather 
than  to  intentional  slight.  But  when  it  came  to  the 
State  reception  in  the  Audience  Tent,  Kasim  had  to 
pluck  at  his  young  master's  girdle  and  remind  him  with 
this  jog,  that  he  was  to  go  no  further,  but  to  await 
his  eldest  cousin's  advance.  Which  he  did  obediently, 
knowing  that  old  Kasim  held  his  King's  honour  as  his 
own,  and  was  keenly  alive  to  his  consequence. 

But  he,  himself,  was  always  forgetting  these  con-- 
venances,  where  he  was  concerned.  If  you  really  felt 
affectionate  it  was  a  nuisance  having  to  wait,  and  bow, 
and  scrape. 

The  State  reception,  however,  went  off  very  well  and 
it  was  followed  by  a  sort  of  entertainment  at  which 
wine  was  served  in  goblets  of  silver  and  gold,  that  were 
put  down  by  the  meat! 

Fateful  innovation  which  sent  old  Kasim  back  to  his 
own  camp  hungry,  in  the  highest  of  dudgeons. 

"  Had  it  been  a  drinking  party,  sire,"  he  protested, 
''  'twould  have  been  my  own  fault  for  being  there. 
But  at  an  official  dinner,  'twas  scandalous.  No  faithful 
Mussulman  could  touch  a  morsel  of  food  so  defiled." 

Babar,  somewhat  regretful  at  a  rather  abrupt  depar- 
ture,   murmured    an    excuse   to    the   effect    briefly,    of 


KING-ERRANT  165 

''  autres  tempes,  autres  moeurs'' ;  whereat  Kasim-Beg,  a 
purist  for  the  old  ways,  broke  out  hotly : 

"  Lo !  sire !  the  Institutions  of  Ghengis  Khan  have 
brought  your  Highness'  family  well  through  much 
trouble.  Sacredly  have  they  observed  them  in  their 
parties,  their  courts,  their  festivals,  their  entertain- 
ments, their  down  sittings,  their  risings  up,  and  it  would 
ill  become  their  descendant  to  flout  them." 

Babar  flushed  up;  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  he  was  not 
quite  such  an  admirer  of  the  old  Turk.  *'  Lo !  the  In- 
stitutes are  good  enough,"  he  said ;  "  a  man  may  well 
follow  them;  yet  are  they  not  of  Divine  authority,  so 
that  one  be  damned  for  disobeying  them.  Besides,  see 
you,  what  hope  would  there  be  for  the  world  if  folk 
made  no  change?  If  a  father  has  done  wrong  why 
should  not  a  son  change  it  to  what  is  right?" 

Old  Kasim,  munching  away  at  the  dry  bread  and 
pickles  which  was  all  his  servants  could  produce, 
snorted.  "  Tis  the  other  way  round  most  times ;  and 
see  you,  sire,  I  give  those  Kings  your  cousins  one  year, 
one  little  year,  to  hold  Herat!  Then  the  Kingdom  of 
their  father  —  God  rest  his  soul  since  he  had  gleams  of 
grace  and  once  let  one  of  his  God-forgetting  sons  go 
before  the  magistrate  —  held  —  despite  wine  bibbing  — 
for  nigh  fifty  years,  will  have  gone  for  ever." 

*'  Aye,"  replied  Barbar,  thoughtfully.  ''  I  have  no- 
ticed that  myself.  Some  men  drink  with  impunity.  I 
wonder  if  'twould  hurt  me?" 

"God  forbid!  your  Majesty!"  said  old  Kasim  with 
a  tremble  in  his  voice.  "  Shall  all  our  care,  mine  and  the 
saintly  Kwaja  who  held  you  as  a  boy  in  his  guardian 
care,  be  wasted?     God  forbid,  say  I." 

But  Babar  said  nothing;  he  knew  that  in  his  inmost 
heart  he  had  had  for  years  a  great  longing  just  to  see 
what  it  was  like  to  be  drunk!     It  could  scarcely  hurt 


166  KING-ERRANT 

for  once,  and  the  land  of  inebriety  could  hardly  be 
the  arid  desert  it  had  been  painted  for  him,  or  so  many 
folk  would  not  wander  in  it. 

He  was  always  open  to  reason  on  all  points.  Never- 
theless he  gave  out  solemnly  that  he  drank  no  wine, 
and  his  cousins,  being  good  hosts,  refrained  from  press- 
ing him  to  do  so. 

Badia-zaman,  the  elder  of  the  three,  doubtless  thought 
little  of  him  for  the  abstinence.  To  be  young,  good- 
looking,  able  to  enjoy  yourself  in  every  way  and  yet 
not  to  take  the  best  of  Life,  seemed  to  him  sheer  fool- 
ishness; and  he  showed  his  estimate  in  his  manner,  so 
that  Babar  came  home  from  his  second  interview  in 
a  fume  of  anger. 

"  This  shall  not  be !  '*  he  said  hotly.  *'  Kasim !  send 
proper  representations  that  young  as  I  am,  I  am  of 
high  extraction.  Twice  have  I  by  force  regained  my 
paternal  Kingdom,  Samarkand.  To  show  want  of  re- 
spect to  one  who  has  done  so  much  for  his  family  by 
repelling  the  foreign  invader  is  not  commendable." 

For  a  marvel  the  young  King  was  on  his  dignity, 
much  to  old  Kasim's  joy.  And  with  good  result;  for 
nothing  more  could  have  been  desired  at  the  next 
audience  which  Babar  attended  with  his  full  retinue. 
And  a  fine  figure  he  looked,  dressed  in  the  very  latest 
fashion  with  a  gold  brocade  coat,  a  flowered  under- 
shirt and  white  silk  baggy  trousers  all  lined  with  gold 
thread.  His  hair,  too,  was  scented  and  curled  and  his 
turban  tied  with  a  diflference.  A  very  different  person 
this  from  the  ragged,  out-at-elbow  fugitive,  or  even 
the  stern  young  soldier  in  his  tarnished  coat  of  mail, 
fighting  for  life  against  overwhelming  odds. 

He  rather  liked  the  change.  It  was  a  new  experience 
to  ruffle  with  gilded  youth,  and  he  ruffled  fairly  until 
his    boon    companions    began    to    play    indecent    and 


KING-ERRANT  16T 

scurvy  tricks,  when  he  left,  disgusted  for  the  time 
being.  But  the  entertainments  were  wonderfully  ele- 
gant. There  was  every  sort  of  delicacy  on  the  comes- 
tible trays,  and  kababs  of  fowl  and  goose;  indeed  dishes 
of  every  sort  and  kind.  The  Prince-Kings  vied  with 
each  other  in  the  refinement  of  their  luxuries,  and  cer- 
tainly Badia-zaman's  parties  deserved  to  be  celebrated; 
they  were  so  fine,  so  easy,  so  unconstrained.  On  the 
other  hand  Mozuffar's  entertainments  were  more  amus- 
ing, especially  when  the  wine  began  to  take  effect. 
There  was  a  man  who  danced  excessively  well ;  a  dance 
of  his  own  invention. 

"  Dance  or  no  dance,"  grumbled  old  Kasim,  "  the 
Princes  thy  cousins  have  taken  four  months  to  reach 
this  place.  And  now  news  comes  that  a  plundering 
party  of  Usbeks  is  well  within  touch  not  more  than 
forty  miles  off  —  and  they  dance !  'Twill  be  to  another 
tune  ere  long." 

"  Mayhap  they  would  let  me  go,"  said  Babar  eagerly, 
"  'twould  be  a  diversion." 

So  he  was  off  to  lay  his  proposition  before  his 
^cousins;  but  they,  afraid  of  their  own  reputations, 
would  not  suffer  him  to  move.  The  fact  was,  as  he 
admitted  to  old  Kasim  privately,  the  Princes,  though 
very  accomplished  at  the  social  board  or  in  the  arrange- 
ments for  a  party  of  pleasure,  and  though  they  had  a 
pleasing  talent  for  conversation  and  society,  yet  pos- 
sessed no  knowledge  whatever  of  the  conduct  of  a 
campaign,  and  were  perfect  strangers  to  the  arrange- 
ments for  a  battle,  or  the  danger  and  spirit  of  a  soldier's 
life. 

This  left  nothing  more  to  be  said;  especially  as  his 
hearer  agreed  with  every  word. 

Early  autumn,  however,  had  passed,  and  Shaibani, 
being  a  careful  general,  prepared  to  withdraw  his  forces 


168  K  I  N  G  -  E  R  R  A  N  T 

against  the  winter's  cold.  This  being  so,  there  was  no 
longer  any  reason  —  there  had  been  but  little  before  — 
for  remaining  in  camp  at  the  Murghab,  and  the  Prince- 
Kings  proposed  a  return  to  Herat  and  invited  Babar 
to  accompany  them. 

"  Were  I  your  Highness,"  said  old  Kasim  sturdily, 
"  I  would  not  go.  So  far  God  in  His  mercy  has  kept 
virtue  on  the  lips  of  the  King,  and  kept  wine  away  from 
them.  But  in  that  God-forsaken  city  of  Herat  who 
knows  what  might  happen?  They  tell  me  even  the 
women  there  are  castaway,  and  that  your  uncle  the 
late  King's  widow  drinks  like  a  fish  —  may  God  reward 
her!" 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  woman  drink  wine,"  said  Babar 
quite  thoughtfully.     "  Have  you  ?  " 

Kasim  looked  at  his  young  master  critically. 

"  New  things  are  not  always  good  things,  sire,"  he 
replied  drily,  "  and,  as  was  mentioned  ere  we  set  out 
from  Kabul,  God  only  knows  what  may  happen  there  if 
we  delay  our  return  too  long.  Already  have  five 
months  passed  and  'tis  a  fifty  days'  march  home- 
wards." 

"  Not  if  we  take  the  high  road,"  said  Babar. 

"  The  high  road,"  echoed  the  old  general ;  "that  may 
be  covered  with  snow  any  moment  now," 

"  Yet  will  I  chance  my  luck,"  returned  Babar  gaily. 
"  See  you,  old  friend,  I  have  my  reasons !  I  must  see 
Herat  —  in  the  whole  habitable  world  they  say  there  is 
not  such  a  city;  besides    .     .     ." 

He  paused,  for  his  was  a  truthful  soul  even  to  it- 
self; and  he  knew  that  the  past  six  weeks  of  jollity  and 
convivial  male  merry-making  had  considerably  dimmed 
his  desire  to  do  his  duty  and  marry.  Still  he  had 
promised  himself  he  would  try  and  seek  out  his  Cousin 
Gharib's    betrothed  —  for    she    had    never    been    his 


KING-ERRANT  169 

wife  —  and  he  meant  to  do  it.  Between  whiles  of 
course.  For  he  must  make  the  most  of  his  time  in 
Herat.  Yes  I  it  would  be  a  pity  to  miss  the  chance  of 
his  Hfe.  To  be  in  the  most  refined  of  cities  which  pos- 
sessed every  means  of  heightening  pleasure  and  gaiety; 
in  which  all  the  incentives  to,  and  apparatus  for,  en- 
joyment were  combined  into  one  vast  invitation  to  in- 
dulgence, and  not  to  indulge,  would  be  foolish.  If  he 
did  not  seize  the  present  moment,  even  to  the  point  of 
tasting  wine,  he  was  not  likely  to  have  such  another. 

And,  certainly,  wine  seemed  to  raise  the  level  of  a 
man's  mind.  His  cousins  were  but  dullards  out  of 
their  cups.  And  there  was  no  need  to  exceed.  To  be 
dead-drunk  was  no  pleasure  to  anyone. 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Load  of  Love,  nor  Earth  nor  Heav'n  can  bear, 
Yet  thou.  Improvident!  wouldst  lightly  wear 
The  lovers'  yoke,  give  up  the  flaming  sword, 
Fool !    Love  only  can  bear  love !    Beware !    Beware ! 

Ebd-ul-Hamtd. 

Herat  was  entered.    It  was  his ! 

Babar,  his  eyes  wide  with  curiosity  and  appre- 
ciation had  ridden  through  what  were  to  him  inter- 
minable streets.  He  had  seen  towers  and  pleasure 
houses  and  palaces  rising  on  all  sides,  had  noted  the 
crowds  which  surged  out  from  every  side  alley  to  see 
one  who  was  already  renowned  in  the  songs  of  half 
Central  Asia,  as  the  embodiment  of  youthful  valour. 
And  all  had  been  simply  inconceivable  in  its  beauty, 
its  size. 

Yusuf-Ali  who  had  been  appointed  his  guide,  rode  at 
his  right  hand,  and  supplied  him  with  endless  informa- 
tion. Close  on  a  million  of  people  in  the  town  and 
suburbs.  Over  a  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  oc- 
cupied houses.     Nigh  on  four  hundred  public  schools. 

Shops !  Why  there  must  be  at  least  fifteen  thousand 
of  them! 

The  statistics  went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  another. 
It  was  the  sheer  beauty  of  the  place  which  held  Babar's 
mind.  The  wide  valley,  the  surrounding  hills  just 
touched  with  snow.  The  white  buildings  following  the 
blue  curves  of  the  river.  The  marble  colonnades  ter- 
racing the  slopes,  the  marble  palaces  crowning  the 
heights;  and,  dense-packed  between  high  carven  houses, 
the  multi-coloured  crowd  all  intent  on  pleasure.    Roars 

170 


KING-ERRANT  171 

of  laughter  rising  from  it  at  every  passing  jest,  a 
chorus  of  "  Victory,  young  champion !  '*  following  him 
as  he  rode  along. 

By  God  and  his  prophet!  Life  was  a  splendid  thing 
to  live! 

Had  he  had  Prince  Fortunatus'  purse  in  his  pocket 
he  would  have  flung  gold  pieces  along  every  inch  of 
the  way. 

Even  in  the  mausoleum  of  his  lately  deceased  uncle, 
where,  in  accordance  with  etiquette  he  had,  before  even 
taking  up  his  quarters  in  the  palace  assigned  to  him,  to 
pay  his  respects  to  the  female  members  of  his  uncle's 
family,  his  ceremonial  condolences  were  somewhat 
marred  by  the  joie  de  vivre  which  simply  exhaled  from 
him.  Yet  he  was  none  the  less  sympathetically  im- 
pressed by  the  dim  Dome-of-Kings  all  lit  up  darkly 
by  swinging  lamps,  by  tall  funereal  tapers  throwing 
flickering  shadows  on  the  purple-crimson  pall  fringed 
with  gold  that  covered  the  catafalque. 

Dim  blue  clouds  of  incense  filled  the  air;  their  scent 
mixed  with  the  perfume-sodden  rustle  of  the  silks  and 
satins  beneath  the  circle  of  ivory-tinted  mourning  veils 
that  enshrouded  the  crouching  figures  of  the  female 
mourners.  The  low  guttural  chant  of  canons  ap- 
pointed to  sing  prayers  for  the  repose  of  the  dead,  rose 
monotonously,  a  fitting  background  to  the  little  con- 
ventional sobs  and  cries,  as  each  lady  in  turn  stood  up 
to  embrace  the  newly  arrived  member  of  the  family. 

There  were  so  many  aunts  to  embrace;  but  Babar 
went  through  them  decorously;  with  a  little  real 
emotion  when  he  hugged  Aunt  Fair,  and  some  rather 
obvious  impatience  when  fat,  silly.  Astonishing  Beauty 
—  who  loved  young  men  —  hugged  him. 

They  did  not,  however,  keep  up  the  ''  marsiah"  for 
long;  the  ladies  —  who  after  the  expiry  of  five  months 


172  KING-ERRANT 

had  got  over  the  first  flush  of  grief  —  being  anxious 
to  have  their  handsome  relative's  budget  of  news. 

So  they  all  repaired  to  Khadijah-Begum's  house  and 
had  a  repast.  It  was  very  refined  and  —  rather  to  Babar's 
disappointment,  for  he  was  curious  to  see  a  woman 
drink  wine  —  strictly  teetotal ;  doubtless  because  Payanda- 
Begum,  the  late  King's  chief  wife  and  —  as  his  father's 
sister  —  Babar's  real  aunt,  was  present.  And  she  was 
naturally  of  the  highest  circle  of  distinction  and  of  the 
most  correct  behaviour. 

Khadijah-Begum  on  the  other  hand,  whom  Babar 
now  saw  for  the  first  time,  showed  her  low  birth  de- 
spite the  fact  that  as  favourite  wife  she  had  managed 
the  court  for  years.  Even  the  knowledge  that  she  was 
Cousin  Gharib's  mother  could  not  prevent  Babar's 
putting  her  down  at  once  as  a  vulgar  talkative  woman 
who  posed   for  being  a  person  of  profound  sense. 

There  was  another  Begum  of  the  late  King's  pres- 
ent, however,  on  whom  the  young  observer,  seeing  her 
for  the  first  time,  passed  a  very  different  opinion. 
This  was  one  Lady  Apak,  a  delicate  fair  woman  who 
spent  her  childless  life  in  nursing  other  people's  children, 
and  who  Babar  felt  deserved  all  the  respect  and  kind- 
ness it  was  in  his  power  to  give. 

He  was  not  sorry  however,  when,  various  other  visits 
paid,  he  found  himself  in  the  house  assigned  to  him. 
And  sure,  no  better  place  could  have  been  discovered 
in  the  whole  habitable  world!  For  it  was  the  garden 
palace  which  the  great  Master-of-all-Arts,  Messer  Ali- 
Shir  —  dead  this  while  back,  God  rest  his  soul!  —  had 
designed  and  built  for  himself.  Babar  spent  hours  wan- 
dering through  its  cool  corridors,  sitting  awhile  in  cun- 
ning alcoves  whence  the  enchanting  view,  framed  in 
gilt  filigree  arch,  showed  like  a  picture  indeed.  He 
sampled  the  rose-water  baths,  all  mosaicked  like  a  gar- 


KING-ERRANT  173 

den  with  buds,  and  leaves,  and  blossoms;  he  sat  strok- 
ing the  soft  silk  pile  of  carpets,  green  and  set  with 
flowers  as  thick  as  Andijan  meadows  in  spring.  And 
there  was  one,  deeply  darkly  verdant  and  almost 
covered  with  the  softest,  fleeciest  white  furry  blobs,  on 
which  he  could  have  lain  down  and  cried,  so  keenly 
did  it  bring  back  the  mantle  of  clover  lambskin  into 
which  he  had  poured  the  first  grief  that  had  come  to 
his  young  life. 

He  read  round  the  walls  of  the  central  marble  hall, 
veined  and  mosaicked  with  precious  stones,  the  boast 
that  in  after  years  one  of  his  descendants  was  to  use 
in  the  Court-of-Private-Audience  at  Delhi. 

"  If  Earth  holds  a  Paradise  —  it  is  this,  it  is  this, 
it  is  this." 

Yes!  it  was  true!  Not  only  in  the  hall,  but  in  every 
niche  and  corner  —  in  the  ivory  carven  bedstead, 
in  the  crystal  goblets  inlaid  with  coral,  in  the  curiously 
beaten  metal-work,  in  the  very  shading  of  the  coloured 
tiles,  here  was  perfection  of  Beauty.  Even  with  their 
shoes  doffed  in  respectful  Oriental  fashion,  Babar  could 
hardly  endure  to  see  servants,  whose  minds  he  knew 
were  not  attuned  to  that  high  level,  passing  backwards 
and  forwards  in  what  he  felt  to  be  a  Shrine.  He  dis- 
missed them  all  and  sat,  pillowed  by  the  softest  down, 
looking  out  from  the  colonnade  which  gave  on  the 
garden.  It,  also,  must  be  beautiful  beyond  compare. 
He  would  see  that  to-morrow.  To-night  it  was  suffi- 
cient to  revel  in  the  burnished  dusk  of  the  orange  trees, 
seen  in  the  soft  moonlight,  to  watch  the  glittering 
radiance  of  the  fountain  drops  against  that  background 
of  distant  hills  —  purple  —  aye!  positively  purple  even 
in  this  light.  Lo!  it  was  beauty  concentrated  almost 
to  pain.  Beauty,  unearthly,  beyond  the  senses.  Some- 
thing not  to  be  seen,  or  heard,  or  tasted,  or  touched. 


174  KING-ERRANT 

or  even  felt.  Beauty  that  brought  an  utter  abnegation 
of  Self. 

"  This  slave  has  a  letter  for  the  Most  High/'  came  a 
clear  sweet  voice.  "  It  is  from  his  Cousin  Gharib.  It 
was  to  be  given  —  if  occasion  came  —  in  private,  and 
in  person  if  possible.     So  I  have  brought  it." 

Babar  turned  quickly.  At  first  to  see  nothing. 
Then  several  paces  away  faintly  outlined  against  one 
of  the  square  white  pilasters  he  caught  the  silhouette  of  a 
white,  curiously  shadowless  figure.  A  woman*s  figure 
surely;  slim,  elegant,  despite  the  enshrouding  veil. 

He  rose  swiftly;  his  heart  beating.  His  dead  cousin! 
Could  it  be  —  No!     Impossible  —  And  yet  — 

"  With  deepest  reverence  —  mother,"  he  said  almost 
mechanically,  as  the  figure  remaining  quiescent  he 
stepped  forward  to  take  what  it  held  out.  He  could 
see  the  hand  —  a  marble  hand  in  the  moonlight  —  be- 
yond the  line  of  the  pilaster. 

A  pretty  hand  too,  with  fingers  pointed  and  delicate. 

"  May  God  reward  you,"  came  his  mechanical  thanks, 
as  instinctively  he  stepped  back  again. 

The  figure  remained  quiescent,  silent.  In  the  moon- 
light he  could  see  clearly  the  sweeping  black  curves  of 
the  writing.     The  letter  was  very  brief. 

"  Shouldst  thou,  cousin,  ever  come  to  Khorasan,  I  have 
counselled  her,  who  was  my  wife  in  name,  to  give  you  this, 
I  make  no  claim,  I  express  no  wish  save  this — /  should  like 
her  to  he  happy,  for  I  have  loved  her  —  and  thou  also,  O 
Babar.  Farewell!  May  the  Crystal  Bowl  give  Love,  not 
Tears'* 

For  an  instant  Babar  stood  confounded,  irresolute: 
it  was  so  unconventional:  so  almost  impossible.  Yet  it 
fitted  strangely  with  the  place;  with  his  vague  feeling 
that  had  been  beyond  even  Time  and  Space. 


•THIS  SLAVE  HAS  A  LETTER  FOR  THE  MOST  HIGH'" 


KING-ERRANT  175 

There  was  a  ruby  jewelled  lamp  swinging  from  the 
arch  between  them.  It  scarce  gave  light,  but  it  sent  a 
patterned  shimmering  rose  upon  the  white  marble 
floor.  A  gentle  breeze  swayed  the  lamp;  the  rose 
flickered  between  them  backwards  and  forwards.  His 
eyes  were  on  it  as  he  stood  holding  the  letter,  the  moon- 
light catching  at  the  signet  ring  he  wore,  dallying  with 
the  gold  embroidery  of  his  light  silken  coat. 

"  Is  it  possible,''  he  said  at  last,  fluttering  a  bit  like 
a  girl,  "that  she  who  stands  before  me  — " 

"  Yea,  I  am  she,"  came  the  composed  reply. 

It  settled  the  young  man  by  bringing  conviction  of 
his  own  confusion. 

"  But  how  —  "  he  began,  a  certain  blame  in  his  sur- 
prise; and  once  again  the  answer  was  ready,  grave, 
suflicient. 

''  My  lord's  slave  comes  every  Friday  after  the  cus- 
tom of  her  family  —  she  is  of  the  blood  of  the  divine 
Jami  as  doubtless  my  lord  knows  —  to  place  flowers  on 
the  tomb  of  the  now  sainted  Messer  Ali-Shir  —  may 
his  ashes  rest  in  peace  —  who  is  interred  by  his  own 
wish  in  this  garden,  and  who  was  her  distant  relative. 
But  in  life  he  was  ever  kind  to  this  dust-like  one,  teach- 
ing her,  and  allowing  her  to  be  his  disciple.  So  her 
litter  :comes  hither  often.  It  awaits  her  return  yonder 
at  the  grave.  Thus  the  letter  was  easy  to  deliver  in 
person,  and  it  is  delivered.     May  God  keep  the  King." 

Faintly  the  figure  moved  as  if  to  go;  but  Babar 
stepped  a  step  forward.  His  head  was  in  a  whirl,  his 
heart  curiously  steady. 

"And  has  the  cupola  of  chastity  no  word  to  say  of 
herself?"  he  asked. 

"  What  word  is  there  to  say,  my  lord  ? "  came  the 
quick  reply.  "  I  have  performed  my  duty.  The  rest 
lies  with  my  lord." 


176  KING-ERRANT 

There  was  just  a  suspicion  of  raillery  in  the  voice 
which  spurred  Babar  to  hardihood. 

"  Then  I  would  fain  know  if  —  if  she  who  thus 
deigns  to  honour  me  is  satisfied  with  —  with  what  she 
sees  ?  " 

"  But  yea !  my  lord,  quite  satisfied !  And  this  is  not 
the  first  time  she  has  seen  my  lord.  She  was  at  the 
window  when  he  made  his  entry  to  the  town.'' 

"  Then  the  lady  has  doubly  the  advantage,"  said 
Babar  with  an  irrepressible  laugh.  "  Yet  will  I  not 
ask  her  to  make  us  equal  and  unveil.  That  were  not 
meet  at  such  a  time  and  place." 

There  was  just  that  faint  suspicion  of  conscious 
virtue  about  the  remark,  but  it  was  met  promptly, 
coolly. 

"  Nor  is  there  need.  My  lord  would  not  be 
frightened  at  what  he  saw,  as  I,  poor  foolish  child,  was 
frightened.  But  I  lived  to  be  wiser.  I  lived  to  know 
that  deformity  of  body  is  as  naught  before  deformity 
of  mind.  But  my  lord  has  neither.  Nor  has  this  dust- 
like one.  She  is  counted  beautiful,  and  though  she 
catalogues  not  her  own  charms,  she  hath  two  eyes, 
somewhat  large,  that  look  straight,  a  passable  nose, 
thirty-two  sound  teeth,  even  and  white,  and  a  mouth 
that  can  say  kind  things  harshly,  and  —  an'  it  please  my 
lord  —  harsh  things  kindly.  Shall  the  recital  proceed 
further,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  By  God  and  the  prophets  no ! "  cried  Babar  catch- 
ing fire  at  last.  "  There  is  but  one  more  thing  between 
us.     Lady,  wilt  thou  take  me  for  husband  ?  " 

"  Of  a  surety ;  therefore  came  I  here."  So  far  the 
reply  was  as  ever,  cool,  collected,  without  shadow  of 
emotion;  now  the  sweet,  polished  voice  broke  faintly. 
"  There  is  but  one  matter  of  which  I  would  remind 
my  lord.     I  am  older  than  he  by  three  years.    And 


KING-ERRANT  177 

I  am  not  quite  like  other  women.  Messer  Ali-Shir 
taught  me  much.  If  my  lord  would  rather  someone 
else—" 

The  rose  light  on  the  pavement  flickered  between 
them  backwards  and  forwards. 

"  Lady,"  said  Babar,  and  involuntarily  he  drew  him- 
self up  to  his  full  height,  "  in  my  childhood  they 
married  me  to  one  for  whom  I  cared  little.  She  left 
me,  saying  truly,  I  did  not  love  her.  Awhile  back  my 
mother  —  God  rest  her  soul  for  she  was  very  dear  to 
me  —  married  me  to  yet  another  wife  whom,  mercifully, 
God  took;  since  we  were  as  cat  and  dog.  But  I  have 
never  loved  a  woman.  I  do  not  now;  perhaps  I  never 
shall.     Tis  well  to  be  prepared.'' 

Was  it  a  faint  sigh,  or  only  another  breath  of  wind 
that  set  the  swinging  lamp  swaying. 

"  I  am  prepared.  And  God  may  send  the  father's 
love  to  the  mother  of  his  son." 

There  was  silence.  The  splash  of  the  glistening 
fountain  made  itself  heard  faintly;  the  soft  coo  of  a 
dove  in  the  orange  trees  seemed  a  lullaby  to  the  whole 
wide  world. 

"  Lady,"  said  Babar  when  he  spoke  at  last,  "  I  have 
sworn  to  myself  that  none  should  know  of  my  marriage 
till  it  was  accomplished.  Till  I  could  place  my  wife 
before  them  and  say  '  See  her  whom  I  have  chosen.' 
I  stay  but  a  week  or  two  in  Herat.  My  kingdom  calls 
me  back.  Is  it  possible  that  ere  I  go  the  formulas 
may  be  said  privately,  so  that  when  good  fortune  en- 
ables me  to  send  to  Herat  it  may  be  for  my  wedded 
wife  that  I  send  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  the  cool,  quiet  voice  re- 
plied, "  Wherefore  not,  my  lord  ?  I  have  said  I  am 
ready." 

"  But  when  ?  "  Babar  spoke  anxiously,  almost  appeal- 


178  KING-ERRANT 

ingly.  He  felt  himself  as  wax  in  a  woman's  hand  —  a 
woman  he  had  never  seen. 

"  Next  Friday,  my  lord,  when  I  come  again  to  lay 
the  flowers  at  the  shrine.  If  my  lord  makes  prepara- 
tion, and  if  he  changeth  not  his  mind,  his  servant  will 
be  there." 

"  Unless  she  also  changeth  her  mind,"  interrupted, 
Babar  with  forced  lightness. 

"  That  might  be,"  came  the  answer.  "  Yet  is  it  not 
so  likely  as  the  other.  The  caged  bird  does  not  choose 
its  song.  And  now  farewell.  God  have  you  in  his 
keeping." 

The  figure  stooped  to  gather  its  flowing  robes  to- 
gether, and  something  in  the  supple  elegance  of  the 
movement  sent  Babar's  blood  to  his  heart  and  head. 

"  Not  so,  my  moon,"  he  cried,  every  atom  of  him 
vibrant  with  emotion.  "  Not  so  do  we  part."  And 
with  two  swinging  strides  he  was  across  the  flickering 
rose  light  on  the  marble  floor,  took  the  hand  held  out 
to  him  unflinchingly,  and  stooped  to  kiss  it. 

"  Wife  and  mother,  guardian  and  friend,  so  shalt 
thou  be  to  me,  so  help  me  God." 

The  next  instant  he  was  alone  staring  into  the  night, 
wondering  if  he  had  fallen  asleep  and  dreamt  it  all. 

No!  It  was  a  reality.  His  signet  ring  was  gone. 
He  must  have  put  it  on  that  firm  delicate  hand,  the 
memory  of  whose  touch  thrilled  him  through  and 
through. 

And  he  had  called  her  his  moon.  Yet  his  heart  was 
beating  tranquilly. 

When  he  lay  down  on  the  carven  bed  he  did  not  toss 
and  turn.  He  did  not  even  feel  inclined  to  indite  a  son- 
net to  his  mistress's  eyebrow  or  compare  her  to  any- 
thing in  heaven  above  or  the  earth  beneath. 

He  was   simply  content,  and   fell  into  a  dreamless 


KING-ERRANT  179 

sleep.  It  was  not  till  the  next  morning  that  he  recol- 
lected that  he  did  not  know  the  lady's  name,  nor  where 
she  lived. 

Not  that  either  ignorance  mattered.    He  would  find 
out  next  Friday. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Noisy  the  Tavern  where  Life's  wine  has  sped 

From  variant  cup  to  fuddle  variant  Head; 

Love  peeps  through  crannied  Door;  each  Drinker  straight 

Flings  cup  aside  to  follow  Her  instead. 

Ebd-ul-Hamid. 

There  was  not  much  time  for  thought  in  Herat. 
Early  in  the  morning  Babar  was  astir  to  ride  out  with 
Yusuf  to  some  of  the  sights,  and  find  the  first  collation 
of  the  day  spread  in  some  suitable  place. 

Then  on  his  return  there  was  the  State  visit  to  the 
Court,  where  with  pomp  and  circumstance  he  took  his 
place  as  King  of  Kabul. 

After  that,  each  day  had  its  entertainment  at  some 
new  palace  of  delight,  and  sometimes  after  dinner  had 
been  served,  the  party  would  be  carried  off  by  one  of 
the  guests  to  a  further  and  more  intimate  circle  of 
amusement. 

Once  this  was  done  by  no  less  a  person  than  Khadijah- 
Begum  herself.  She  took  a  few  of  the  young  princes 
to  the  King's  Pleasure  House,  a  delightful  little  edifice 
of  two  storeys  high  which  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  still 
more  delightful  garden.  The  upper  storey  was  simply 
perfect!  Four  little  apartments  at  the  four  corners, 
each  with  a  wide  balcony,  and  between  them  and  en- 
closed by  them,  one  large  central  arched  Hall.  Every 
portion  of  this  upper  storey  was  covered  with  frescoes 
representing  the  battles  of  Babar's  grandfather  Sultan 
Abusdid. 

And  it  was  all  so  charmingly  arranged.  Carpets  and 
hangings  everywhere ;  especially  in  the  balcony  where  the 
party  assembled  and  where  Babar  as  the  guest  of  the 

180 


KING-ERRANT  181 

evening  was  placed  above  his  hosts.  These  little  at- 
tentions always  flattered  Babar  and  he  never  failed  to 
notice  them.  So  the  entertainment  began  with  a  cup 
of  welcome  which  was  charged  and  drunk  by  the  host 
in  chief.  Then  the  cupbearers  began  to  fill  up  the  cup 
of  the  others  with  pure  wine  which  everyone,  including 
Khadijah-Begum,  quaffed  as  if  it  had  been  the  water 
of  life!  Only  the  tall  good-looking  young  King  re- 
fused, even  when,  the  party  waxing  warm,  and  the  spirit 
mounting  to  their  heads,  they  took  a  fancy  to  make 
the  young  abstainer  drink  also. 

The  night  was  fine,  the  moonlight  streamed  in  upon 
fruit  and  flowers.  Jelal  the  flute  player  fluted  to  per- 
fection, and  Bechab  on  the  harp  might  have  wiled  doves 
from  their  nests.  Then  Hafiz  sang  well  in  the  Herati 
style,  low,  delicate,  equable.  Everything  tempted  to 
pleasure  and  Babar  sat  with  a  half-frown  on  his 
kindly  face  watching  the  others  get  lordily  drunk. 

Then  mercifully  a  false  note  was  struck  by  one  of 
his  own  following.  Jahangir  Mirza,  who  was  far  gone, 
insisted  that  his  favourite  singer  of  Samarkand  should 
delight  the  company.  And  the  man  sang  (as  he  always 
did)  in  a  loud  harsh  voice  and  out  of  tune;  altogether 
a  dreadful,  disagreeable  performance.  So  disagreeable 
that  the  Khorasan  Princes,  though  far  too  polite  to  stop 
it  out  of  respect  to  Babar,  had  to  yawn  and  furtively 
protect  their  ears.  This,  and  the  reflection  that  if  he 
was  to  yield  and  taste  wine  it  would  be  more  courteous 
to  do  so  when  he  was  the  guest  of  the  eldest  of  the 
Princes,  and  not  of  the  younger,  decided  him  not  to 
give  way;  at  that  party  at  any  rate. 

But  he  was  no  wet  blanket;  for  after  a  time,  having 
had  enough  of  the  Pleasure-House,  they  repaired  to  the 
new  Winter-Palace,  where  Yusuf,  being  by  this  time 
extremely  drunk,  rose  and,   for  a  marvel,  danced  re- 


182  KING-ERRANT 

markably  well;  possibly  because  he  was  a  musical  man. 
Here  they  all  got  very  merry  and  friendly.  Babar  was 
presented  more  or  less  ceremoniously  with  a  corselet,  a 
sword,  a  belt,  and  a  whitish  Tipchak  horse,  and  some- 
one sang  a  Turkhi  song  well.  On  the  other  hand  while 
the  party  was  hot  with  wine  two  slaves  again  performed 
indecent  scurvy  tricks.  But  this  time  Babar  did  not 
leave.  He  remained  to  the  bitter  end  when  the  party 
broke  up  at  such  an  untimely  hour  that  Babar  thought 
it  best  to  stay  where  he  was ;  the  others  doubtless,  being 
too  drunk  to  move. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  experience,  coming  in  such  close 
contrast  to  the  marvellous  peace  of  that  moonlight  night 
when,  as  if  in  a  dream,  he  had  handfasted  a  nameless 
woman,  that  made  Babar  listen  to  old  Kasim's  horror- 
struck  remonstrances  concerning  his  young  master's 
failing  adherence  to  orthodoxy  in  the  matter  of 
wine. 

The  rigid  old  Mahomedan  was  fairly  scandalised,  and 
made  such  a  fuss  that  the  Khorasan  Prime-Minister 
intervened,  and  took  his  young  masters  to  task  so 
severely  that  they  wholly  laid  aside  any  idea  of  urging 
their  cousin  further  to  drink. 

Rather  perhaps  to  that  cousin's  private  regret.  It 
seemed  a  thousand  pities  to  leave  Herat  without  having 
tasted  all  Life's  pleasures;  all,  that  is,  that  were  not  in- 
decent or  scurvy.  And  a  man  jcould  be  drunk  and  yet 
remain  a  gentleman. 

Still,  when  the  elder  prince  did  give  the  promised 
party,  at  which  Babar  had  promised  himself  he  would 
for  once  drink  wine,  he  still  refrained,  though  he  fretted 
because  his  nobles  thought  it  necessary  only  to  drink 
by  stealth,  hiding  their  goblets  and  taking  draughts  in 
great  dread.  It  was  so  foolish;  when  they  knew  he 
was  never  one  to  object  to  the  following  of  common 


KING-ERRANT  183 

usage,  if  so  be  the  follower  could  reconcile  it  to  his  own 
conscience. 

He  was  altogether  a  trifle  hoity-toity  at  this  supper 
party ;  for  a  whole  goose,  after  Herati  fashion,  being  set 
down  before  him,  he  did  not  touch  it ;  and,  on  his  host's 
asking  if  he  did  not  like  it,  said  frankly,  that  being  ac- 
customed to  the  unrefined  habit  of  having  his  food 
served  in  gobbets,  he  did  not  know  how  to  carve  it. 

Whereupon  his  host  obligingly  sent  for  the  goose, 
cut  it  up,  and  placed  it  himself  before  his  guest. 
Badia-zaman  was,  of  course,  unequalled  in  such  atten- 
tions, and  life  was  very  delightful;  yet  still  Babar's 
thoughts  began  to  turn  to  the  next  Friday,  and  after 
that  to  Kabul.  His  future  life  seemed  more  settled  than 
it  had  ever  been  before. 

But  Fate  had  a  surprise  in  store  for  him,  as  he  found 
out  one  afternoon,  when,  after  his  usual  kindly  custom, 
he  had  gone  to  pay  a  duty  visit  to  his  paternal  aunts. 
Running  down  the  narrow  stairs  which  led  to  Payan- 
da-Begum's  upper  storey,  he  came  full  tilt  on  two 
veiled  women  coming  up.  The  stair  was  but  shoulder 
wide;  no  room  to  pass,  even  had  the  first  figure  not 
been  so  appallingly  stout.  Impossible  to  pass,  rude  to 
turn  one's  back  on  those  who  were  evidently  of  the  cir- 
cle of  distinction  — 

Nor  could  he,  King  of  Kabul,  retreat  step  by  step 
like  a  lackey.  He  stood  for  a  second  gracious,  debon- 
nair ;  then  with  a  merry  "  Your  pardon,  mother," 
wedged  his  arms  tight  between  those  narrow  walls,  so 
swung  himself  back.  And  there,  in  two  such  bounds, 
he  was  up  the  six  steps  and  at  the  top  of  the  stair. 

"  Have  a  care,  nephew,"  shrieked  a  fat,  familiar 
voice  from  the  first  bundle.  "  Thou  wilt  fall  and  crush 
thy  Yenkam !  " 

"  My  bridesmaid ! "  cried  Babar  joyously,   repeating 


184  KING-ERRANT 

the  pet  nickname.  *'  Say  not  so !  When  didst  thou 
come?"  And  he  was  down  the  stairs  again  to  em- 
brace a  favourite  aunt  he  had  not  seen  for  years,  and  help 
her  mount  the  remaining  steps. 

So,  still  panting,  the  elderly  matron  unwound  her  veil 
and  stood  revealed;  fat  indeed. 

"  Lo !  Yenkam,"  said  Babar,  his  eyes  twinkling. 
"  Had  I  fallen,  I  should  have  fallen  —  soft.'' 

"  Fie  on  thee,  scapegrace !  God  send  thee  not  a 
skinny  old  age,"  retorted  Habee-ba-Begum  good  hu- 
mouredly.  "  But  what  of  thy  cousin  Ma'asuma  here  ? 
Ma'asuma  that  is  like  the  fairy  princess,  weighing  but 
five  flowers  —  have  a  care  of  thy  veil,  child !  " 

The  tiny  little  figure,  slim  and  graceful,  which  now 
stood  beside  the  fat  one,  apparently  made  a  court  saluta- 
tion beneath  her  thick  veil,  and  a  bird-like  voice 
said,  with  a  laugh  in  every  tone,  *'  My  cousin  Babar, 
never  having  seen  my  smallness.  Mother,  cannot  gauge 
it." 

The  young  King  returned  the  salute  in  his  best  man- 
ner. "  If  the  gracious  lady  would  allow  me  to  judge," 
he  began,  when  his  Yenkam  cut  short  his  hardihood. 

"  Fie !  no  nonsense,  children !  Ma'asuma !  Follow 
me.  Thou  must  be  presented  at  once  to  thy  eldest  aunt. 
I  shall  see  thee,  scapegrace!  doubtless,  later  on." 

So,  with  a  nod  to  Babar,  bundled  propriety  moved 
off  down  the  corridor. 

Was  it  chance?  —  Was  it  really  a  trip  over  a  tire- 
some veil    .     .     .     ? 

Anyhow  Habee-ba-Begum  had  rounded  a  corner,  and 
those  two  young  things  stood  staring  at  each  other  as 
if  they  had  never  seen  anything  in  the  wide  world  be- 
fore. 

It  was  a  real  case  of  love  at  first  sight. 

As  for  him,  he  did  not  even  realise  what  she  was  like. 


KING-ERRANT  185 

He  only  knew  that  she  was  beautiful  exceedingly.  And 
she  knew  he  was  a  Prince  indeed. 

The  mirth  in  their  eyes  died  down.  Then  hers  grew 
startled,  his  caught  fire.  So  they  stood;  till  suddenly 
hers  flamed  back  into  his,  and  with  a  low  cry  she  hud- 
dled her  draperies  round  her,  turned,  and  fled  after  her 
mother. 

Babar  stood  still  as  a  stone.  What  had  happened  to 
him?  He  felt  confused,  lost,  yet  utterly,  entirely,  ab- 
surdly happy. 

After  a  time  he  walked  soberly  downstairs  feeling 
vaguely  that  the  world  was  a  new  world,  and  that  he 
must  go  and  find  himself. 

Once  in  the  street  he  went  on  walking  blindly,  on 
and  on,  till  he  found  himself  in  desert  places  outside 
the  town.  Then,  aimlessly,  he  turned  back  and  walked 
as  he  had  come,  wandering  through  the  city  as  though 
in  search  of  mansions  and  gardens. 

Yet  all  the  while  he  felt  as  if  he  could  neither  sit 
nor  go,  neither  stand  nor  walk. 

He  was  literally  obsessed  by  a  passion,  pure  in  its 
very  intensity;  a  passion  which  at  one  and  the  same 
time  made  him  long  to  be  with  its  object,  yet  covered 
him  with  shame  and  confusion  at  the  mere  thought  of 
her  beauty. 

He  returned  after  long  hours  to  Ali-Shir's  palace, 
worn  out  in  body,  but  yet  more  restless  in  mind.  He 
had  decided  that  this  must  be  love  —  love  at  long  last. 
In  that  case  he  must  write  verses,  and  began  to  cata- 
logue the  beauty  of  the  face  he  had  seen. 

He  remembered,  now,  that  they  were  unusual;  for 
little  Cousin  Ma'asuma  had  the  rare  distinction  of  fair- 
ish hair  and  blue  eyes.  A  little  flowerful  face,  merry, 
sparkling;  rebellious  curling  hair  flecked  with  red  gold 
—  a  tint  of  rose  and  creamy  champak  — 


186  KING-ERRANT 

All  this  he  remembered  dreamily  as  he  laboured  to  fit 
together  the  fine  mosaic  of  a  Persian  love  ode. 

"  Impassioned  loved  one !  fairest  of  the  fair. 
The  waving  tendrils  of  thy  bronze  gold  hair 
Spread  round  thy  face  each  one  a  separate  snare ; 
Thine  eyes  are  vi'lets,  centred  by  black  bees 
Who  seek  to  drain  their  sweetness  to  the  lees; 
Thine  eyebrows  arch — " 

He  got  so  far  as  this,  then  threw  away  his  pen  in  dis- 
gust. 

Anyone  could  write  that  sort  of  stuff.  He  had  read 
pages  of  it  in  books:  had  sung  such  rhymes  by  the 
score.  But  that  sort  of  thing  had  nothing  to  do  with 
his  great  love  for  Ma'asuma  and  hers  for  him. 

For  she  had  loved  him,  of  course.  The  reverse  w^as 
incredible,  absurd. 

He  turned  round  and  buried  his  face  in  the  downy 
cushions  that  had,  as  usual,  been  spread  for  him  in  his 
favourite  corner  of  the  colonnade. 

He  had  had  no  dinner.  He  did  not  want  any.  He 
had  refused  his  cousin's  invitations  with  some  excuse. 
He  forgot  what  —  it  did  not  matter.  Nothing  in  the 
wide  world  mattered  but  his  love  for  Ma'asuma  and 
hers  for  him. 

The  moon  was  still  bright.  Not  quite  so  bright  as 
It  had  been  that  night,  five  days  ago,  when  he  had 
promised  to  marry  someone  else. 

Babar  sat  up,  leant  his  head  on  his  hand  and  began 
to  consider  how  matters  stood.  Oriental  in  mind,  mar- 
riage was  to  him  by  no  means  synonymous  with  love. 
He  could  legitimately  have  four  wives  at  a  time.  If  he 
liked.  But  honestly  he  felt  he  would  rather  not.  Still 
—  as  nothing  possibly  could  prevent  his  making 
Ma'asuma  his  wife  —  if  the  other  nameless  lady  wanted 
to  be  his  wife  also,  he  would  acquiesce.     He  would  not 


KING-ERRANT  187 

go  back  from  his  promise.  Only  — -  what  a  pity  he  had 
called  her  his  "  Moon  " !  That  name  belonged  to  his 
love  by  right. 

So,  as  he  sat  dreaming,  a  voice  said  with  the  nasal 
twang  of  the  common  folk  — 

"A  letter  for  the  Presence.'' 

The  coincidence  of  time  and  place  startled  him.  He 
looked  up  half -expectant  of  that  tall,  slim,  female  figure. 
But  this  was  a  lad  in  the  uniform  of  the  Palace  serv- 
ants. A  message  mayhap  from  one  of  the  Begums. 
He  took  it  carelessly  from  an  awkward  brown  hand  and 
opened  its  seal. 

A  scent  of  fresh  violets  came  to  him  as  he  did  so. 

And  the  letter? 

It  was  written  in  the  finest  Babari  hand  —  the  hand 
he  had  invented!  —  with  a  delicacy,  an  accuracy  at 
which  even  the  inventor  of  it  marvelled,  and  it  con- 
tained but  a  quatrain;  but  such  a  quatrain!  Babar's 
scholastic  appreciation  of  the  form  forced  its  way 
through  his  emotional  delight  at  the  words.  Ali-Shir 
himself  could  not  have  written  anything  neater,  more 
absolutely  correct  in  prosody.  And  in  such  difficult 
metre  too,  with  its  enlay  of  rhymes. 

"  My  heart  has  part  in  this  thy  smart. 
Dear  heart!  have  part  in  this  my  smart! 
Our  sighs  do  rise  twin  to  the  skies; 
Thy  heart,  my  heart,  are  not  apart." 

And  it  was  signed: 

"  Thy  true  friend  Ma'asuma." 

Yea!  That  was  worth  writing!  That  told  the  tale. 
Babar  sprang  to  his  feet.  The  whole  world  seemed 
filled  with  radiance.  He  and  Ma'asuma  were  the  only 
people  in  it. 


188  KING-ERRANT 

But  what  should  he  answer?  What  should  he  write? 
Nothing  but  the  truth  — God's  truth. 

*'  I  love  thee.     I  love  thee,  Ma'asuma.     I  love  thee." 

In  his  haste,  his  brimming  emotion,  the  words  fell 
from  his  lips,  as  seizing  pen  and  paper  he  set  them 
down  and  signed  them. 

"  Is  that  the  answer  ? "  asked  the  waiting  lad  as 
Babar  held  out  the  missive  impatiently.  "  Am  I  to 
take  that  to  my  mistress  ?  "  A  faint  hesitancy  over  the 
latter  words  made  the  young  man  look  at  the  boy  —  a 
dull,  rather  sullen  face,  but  not  ill-looking. 

"  Yes !  "  he  replied  joyously.  "  Take  it  to  thy  mis- 
tress.    It  is  my  answer,  now  and  always ! " 

The  lad  salaamed  and  went,  leaving  Babar  in  a 
heaven  of  perfect  content. 

Two  days  later,  on  Friday  evening,  however,  he  was 
waiting  to  fulfil  his  promise  in  Ali-Shir's  tomb.  Abso- 
lutely Oriental  as  his  outlook  was,  so  far  as  marriage 
was  concerned,  he  yet  wondered,  vaguely,  if  he  were 
fool  or  knave  in  acting  as  he  did.  For  the  path  of  true 
love,  never  very  rough  when  Kings  are  concerned,  had 
been  made  very  smooth,  indeed,  for  the  two  young 
people.  Babar  had  sent  his  Akam  to  see  his  Yenkam 
and  the  whole  affair  had  been  settled  in  five  minutes 
with  enthusiasm.  Even  the  preliminaries  had  been  ar- 
ranged. It  being  nigh  December,  Babar  should  return 
to  Kabul  and  make  preparations  there,  while  Yenkam 
would  complete  hers  at  Herat,  and  with  the  first  blink 
of  returning  spring,  the  marriage  should  take  place  at 
some  intermediate  place.  Meanwhile  the  young  peo- 
ple, after  Chagatai  fashion,  had  been  allowed  to  see 
each  other  and  were  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. 
The  betrothals  were  to  be  made  public  in  a  few  days; 
though  already  Babar's  conduct  was  suspicious.  For 
he    refrained    from   his   cousin's   convivial   parties   and 


KING-ERRANT  189 

mooned  about  in  the  gardens  composing  "  Sonnets  of 
the  Heart,"  as  he  was  pleased  to  call  them,  in  his  na- 
tive Turkhi  which  gave  him  much  more  freedom  than 
the  severely  technical  Persian  odes. 

These  he  sent  as  written  to  his  dearest  dear,  and 
they  invariably  brought  back  the  most  beautiful  replies, 
more  correct,  if  not  quite  as  genuine  in  feeling,  as  his 
own  effusions.  He  felt  he  was,  indeed,  in  luck  to  find 
so  peerless  a  maid,  perfect  in  beauty  and  in  intelli- 
gence. One  of  these  compositions  —  the  last  —  lay  in 
his  waist-wallet,  as  he  waited  in  Ali-Shir's  tomb.  The 
moon  had  not  yet  risen,  and  all  was  dark.  Yet  he  got 
up  once  or  twice  from  the  parapet  rail  on  which  he 
sat,  and  paced  aimlessly  up  and  down. 

In  truth  he  was  restless;  vaguely  dissatisfied  with 
himself.  He  was  going  to  explain,  of  course  —  oh,  yes ! 
he  would  explain ;  but  it  might  have  been  better  to  write. 
Yet  how  could  he,  knowing  neither  her  name  nor  where 
she  lived?  He  could  have  found  out  of  course;  but 
that  might  have  been  to  put  his  paternal  aunts  on  the 
scent.  They  were  dear  creatures,  but  dreadful  scandal- 
mongers. Besides  he  had  so  much  to  say.  A  personal 
explanation  would  be  easier;  less  abrupt,  kinder.  Not 
that  he  meant  to  back  out  —  far  from  it.  He  was  ready 
to  be  a  good,  just,  generous  husband;  unless  of  course, 
the  nameless  one  preferred  not  to  take  second  place,  as 
she  must  do.  There  was  no  helping  that.  It  was  not 
his   fault.     Love  had  come    .     .     . 

He  paced  quicker  as  he  remembered  the  words  which 
had  so  touched  him  —  "  And  God  the  Father  may 
send  a  father's  love  to  the  mother  of  his  son."  Well! 
God  send  He  might;  though  that  would  be  a  different 
sort  of  love  altogether  from  this  absorbing  passion. 
Anyhow  he  could  do  no  more.  A  Kazi,  able  if  neces- 
sary to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony,  was  within  call. 


190  KING-ERRANT 

He,  himself,  was  ready.  All  that  was  wanting  was  the 
lady.     Surely   she  was   late   in   coming. 

A  rustle  made  him  start  and  listen;  but  it  was  only 
the  doves  in  the  orange  trees. 

No  one!     No  one! 

The  moon  rose  after  a  time  over  the  garden  and 
flooded  the  terraces  with  such  silvern  brilliance  that  the 
very  pebbles  on  the  path  showed  distinct. 

But  no  one  came  —  no  one! 

Could  she  have  heard? 

Impossible;  it  was  still  a  Court  secret,  and  she  was  a 
religious   recluse  —  so    far   as  he  knew. 

Besides;  even  if  she  had  changed  her  mind,  she 
might  have  come  —  or  sent  a  message. 

So,  at  last,  in  rather  an  ill  humour  he  v/ent  back  to 
the  Palace  and  dismissed  the  waiting  Kazi  with  a  hand- 
some fee. 

There  was  one. more  Friday  ere  he  left  Herat;  and, 
feeling  ill-used,  sore,  yet  in  a  way  mightily  relieved,  he 
waited  in  Ali-Shir's  tomb  for  another  hour  or  so.  No 
one  should  say  he  had  failed  in  his  part  of  the  bargain ! 
He  was  quite  ready.  Besides  he  had  told  the  woman 
plainly  that  he  was  not  in  love  with  her;  so  she  had  no 
right  to  feel  aggrieved.     If  she  did. 

But  that  could  scarcely  be.  Every  good  Mussul- 
man knew  she  had  no  claim  to  a  whole  man  —  though 
little  Ma'asuma  had  every  bit  of  him.  Yea!  every  bit. 
So  it  was  as  well,  doubtless,  that  no  one  came. 

And  as  he  went  back  to  the  palace  his  only  regret  was 
that  he  should  have  called  the  nameless  one  "  My 
moon." 

The  title  belonged  to  his  love,  of  right ;  but  she  would, 
she  could  never  bear  it  because  of  the  nameless  one  who 
had  changed  her  mind  —  apparently;  but  she  had  not 
sent  back  his  ring ! 


CHAPTER  V 

Forward  and  onward!  do  not  ask  the  task, 
Fortune  importune!    Is  not  strife  true  life? 

KAsim-Beg  was  in  a  fever  to  leave  Herat.  Marriage, 
he  said,  was  good,  and  it  was  proper  to  choose  a  cousin, 
who  was  doubtless  charming;  though  for  his  part  he 
beheved  the  rather  in  choice  by  outsiders;  for  if  the 
result  was  not  happy  there  was  no  self  blame,  and  self 
blame  was  the  devil  for  destroying  decent  calm.  But 
Kingship  was  more  important  still,  and  as  the  Most 
High  had  not  been  so  very  secure  on  his  new  throne 
before  he  had  started,  he  simply  could  not  afford  to  be 
away  more  than  six  months. 

And  Babar  could  not  but  admit  his  faithful  old  min- 
ister was  right.  So  he  said  farewell  reluctantly  to  lit- 
tle Ma'asuma  and  started  at  the  head  of  his  small  army 
for  Kabul.  And  as  he  rode  up  the  last  slope  whence  he 
could  see  the  gilded  city  of  Herat,  he  told  himself  he 
could  not  have  done  it  better.  He  had  seen  every- 
thing—  he  ran  over  the  list  of  the  sights  in  his  mind, 
and  found  eighty-two  of  them!  In  fact  the  only  one 
worthy  of  notice  which  he  had  omitted  was  a  certain 
convent.  He  flushed  a  little  at  the  remembrance,  and 
set  the  thought  aside  with  self-complacence  that  he  had 
come  through  the  temptations  of  the  most  luxurious 
town  in  the  world  quite  unscathed.  He  had  not  played 
any  indecent  or  scurvy  tricks,  he  had  not  touched  wine. 
He  had  altogether  been  quite  a  virtuous  prince.  So, 
with  characteristic  buoyancy,  despite  the  fact  that  he 
had  said  good-bye  to  his  first  and  only  love,  he  settled 
himself  in  the  saddle,  and  his  face  for  home. 

191 


192  KING-ERRANT 

Here  difficulties  arose  at  once.  It  began  to  snow 
the  very  day  they  left  Herat,  and  Babar  was  for  taking 
the  low  road  for  safety's  sake.  It  was  the  longer  of 
course,  but  the  hill  road  was  at  all  times  difficult  and 
dangerous;  in   snow  practically  impassable. 

But  Kasim-Beg,  who  had  been  in  a  fuss  for  days,  be- 
haved very  perversely,  so  that  in  the  end  Babar  gave 
way  and  they  started  for  the  passes,  taking  one  Binai, 
an  old  mountaineer,  as  their  guide.  Now  whether  it 
was  from  old  age,  or  from  his  heart  failing  him  at  the 
unusual  depth  of  the  drifts,  is  uncertain;  but  this  is 
sure  —  having  once  lost  the  path  he  never  could  find  it 
again  so  as  to  point  out  the  way ! 

However,  as  Kasim-Beg  and  his  sons  were  anxious 
to  preserve  their  reputation  as  route-choosers,  they  dis- 
mounted, beat  down  the  snow  and  discovered  something 
like  a  road  along  which  the  party  —  much  reduced  by 
defections  due  to  the  delights  of  Herat  —  managed  to 
advance  for  a  day,  when  it  was  brought  to  a  complete 
stand  by  the  depth  of  the  snow,  which  was  such  that 
the  horses'  feet  did  not  touch  the  ground.  Seeing  no 
other  remedy,  Babar  ordered  a  retreat  to  a  ravine  where 
there  was  abundance  of  firewood,  and  thence  despatched 
sixty  or  seventy  chosen  men,  to  return  by  the  road  they 
had  come,  and,  retracing  their  footsteps,  to  find  on  the 
lower  ground  any  Huzaras  or  other  people  who  might 
be  wintering  there,  and  to  bring  a  guide  who  was  able 
to  point  out  the  way.  This  done  they  halted  in  the 
ravine  for  three  or  four  days  awaiting  the  return  of  the 
men  who  had  been  sent  out.  These  did,  indeed,  come 
back,  but  without  having  been  able  to  find  a  guide. 

What  was  to  be  done?  Nothing  but  place  reliance 
on  God  and  push  forward.  So  said  Babar,  a  light  in 
his  clear  eyes  as  he  recognised  that  he  was  in  a  tight 
place,  that  before  him  and  his  lay  such  hardships  and 


KING-ERRANT  193 

sufferings  as  even  he  had  scarcely  undergone  at  any 
other  period  of  his  life.  But  then  at  no  other  period 
of  his  life  had  Love  been  waiting,  her  rosy  wings  flut- 
tering, for  him  to  win  through. 

"Warm  yourselves  to  the  marrow  this  night,^'  he 
said  to  all.  "  Eat  your  fill  and  carry  firewood  in  place 
of  the  victuals.  We  shall  need  every  atom  of  strength 
we  can  save  and  spend." 

But  he  himself  spent  a  wakeful  night  and  wrote  a 
Turkhi  verse  to  console  himself.  It  ran  thus  and  was 
rather  poor;  though  nothing  else  was  to  be  expected 
under  such  circumstances: 

"  Fate  from  my  very  birth  has  marked  me  down. 
There  is  no  injury  I  have  not  known, 
Not  one !     So  what  care  I  what  fortune  bring? 
No  harm  unknown  can  come  to  me,  the  King." 

They  were  up  betimes,  a  long  straggling  party  doing 
their  best  to  struggle  on  by  beating  down  the  snow  and 
so  forming  a  road  along  which  the  laden  mules  could  go. 
It  was  luckily  a  fine  day  and  by  evening  they  could 
count  on  an  advance  of  three  miles.  What  was  more, 
as  no  snow  had  fallen,  they  were  able  to  send  back 
along  the  beaten  track  for  more  firewood.  So  it  went 
on  for  two  or  three  days.  Then  the  men  began  to  be 
discouraged,  and  Babar  set  his  teeth.  With  Love 
awaiting  him  at  the  other  side,  he  meant  to  get  over  the 
Pass. 

He  only  had  about  fifteen  volunteers  from  his  im- 
mediate staff,  but  those  fifteen,  headed  by  vitality  in- 
carnate, worked  wonders.  Every  step  taken  was  up  to 
the  middle  or  the  breast  in  soft,  fresh- fallen  snow;  but 
still  it  was  a  step,  and  he  who  followed  did  not  sink  so 
far.     Thus  they  laboured.     As  the  vigour  of  the  person 


194  KING-ERRANT 

who  went  first  was  generally  expended  after  he  had 
gone  a  few  paces,  another  advanced  and  took  his  place. 

"  Lo !  gentlemen,  'tis  as  good  as  leap-frog,''  cried  the 
young  leader  joyously,  and  thereinafter  they  strove  for 
steps.  And  as  ever  Babar  came  out  first.  "  See  you," 
he  said  gravely,  in  explanation  of  his  own  prowess, 
"  'tis  I  brought  you  hither ;  and  if  we  do  not  beat  hard 
we  shall  be  beaten." 

At  which  mild  joke  Kasim  laughed  profusely,  though 
he  felt  as  if  he  could  have  killed  himself  for  having 
thus  jeopardised  his  young  hero's  life. 

The  fifteen  or  so  who  worked  in  trampling  down  the 
snow,  next  succeeded  in  dragging  on  a  riderless  horse. 
This  generally  sank  to  the  stirrups  and  after  ten  or  fif- 
teen paces  was  worn  out.  The  next  fared  better  and 
the  next,  and  the  next.  And  after  all  the  led  horses 
had  thus  been  brought  forward,  came  a  sorry  sight. 
The  rest  of  the  troops,  even  the  best  men  and  many  who 
bore  the  title  of  "  Noble "  advancing  (not  even  dis- 
mounted!) along  the  road  that  had  been  beaten  down 
for  them  by  their  King!  Some  of  them,  certainly,  had 
the  grace  to  hang  their  heads.  But  this  was  no  time, 
Babar  felt,  for  reproach  or  even  for  authority.  Every 
man  who  possessed  spirit  or  emulation  must  have  has- 
tened to  the  front  without  orders;  and  those  without 
spirits  were  worse  than  useless  at  such  a  time. 

"  We  must  do  without  them,  Kasim,"  said  the  young 
King,  when  his  minister  would  have  spoken  his  mind. 
'*  'Twill  not  mend  matters  with  cowards  to  tell  them 
they  be  such.  Could  any  tongue  circle  the  lie  I  would 
praise  them  for  their  bravery,  but  with  Death  staring 
us  in  the  face  I  stick  to  Truth." 

And  to  work  also.  The  life  and  soul  of  the  fifteen, 
he  kept  them  going  by  jokes  and  quips  and  the  singing 
of  songs.     Aye!  even  when  storm  and  snow  came  with 


KING-ERRANT  195 

blinding  force  and  they  all  expected  to  meet  death  to- 
gether. Then  it  was  that,  ahead  of  all,  Babar's  full 
mellow  voice  rang  out  in  such  ballads  as: 

THE  HAND  OF  THE  THIEF 

The  bog  was  black  outside  Kazan, 
Now  it  is  red ! 

Last  night  there  came  a  rich  car-wan. 
Blood  has  been  shed! 

Now  Adham-Khan  was  over-lord, 
Judging  the  right 

Of  quarr'l  betwixt  the   Black-Sheep-Horde 
And  they  of  the  White. 

"  Oh !  Adham-Khan  avenge  the  wrong, 

Thou  art  the  head." 
"  My  hand  holds  fast  the  skirt  that's  long," 

Smiling  he  said. 

Then  rose  in  wrath  young  Zulfikar, 
Girt  on  his  sword. 
"  Now  show  I  him  in  full  durbar 
Right  is  the  Lord." 

He  saddled  steed  and  rode  away 
Over  the  sand, 

His  hauberk  rattling  roundelay, 
God   at  his  hand. 

And  Adham-Khan,  he  sat  in  state 
Holding  his  court. 
"  Now  who  is  he  who  comes  so  late 
What  has  he  brought  ?  " 

"  I  bring  a  gift  from  the  Black-Horde-chief, 
Thy  honour's  friend, 


196  KING-ERRANT 

And  lay  the  hand  of  a  common  thief 
On  thy  skirt's  end." 

The  stiff  dead  hand  skimmed  through  the  air, 

Lay  like  a  stone. 

Of  all  the  court  not  one  did  dare 

Right  to  disown. 

"  Oh !  warrior  hear !    Against  the  right 
Keep  thou  from  strife; 
But  if  the  wrong  is  done  then  fight 
Fight   for   thy  life." 

They  were,  in  truth,  fighting  for  dear  life.  And 
there  was  a  chance  of  it  ahead  of  them;  for,  nigh  the 
top  of  the  great  Zerrin  pass,  lay  a  cave  wherein  shelter 
might  be  found.  At  least  so  said  Binai  the  guide.  But 
the  snow  fell  in  such  quantities,  the  wind  was  so  dread- 
ful, so  terribly  violent,  it  needed  all  Babar's  courage 
not  to  give  in. 

But  the  rosy  fluttering  wings  of  Love  would  not  let 
him  yield.  He  could  not  lose  little  cousin  Ma'asuma. 
The  very  thought  of  her  warmed  him;  the  scent  of  her 
hair  came  to  him  with  the  snow. 

The  drifts  deepened,  the  possibility  of  path  narrowed 
in  the  steep  defile,  the  days  were  at  the  shortest,  with 
diflficulty  could  the  horses  be  kept  on  the  trampled  road, 
yet  all  around  was  certain  death  in  unfathomed  snow- 
depths. 

Babar's  face  was  stern.  He  was  nigh  his  end,  and  he 
knew  it. 

And  then,  suddenly,  a  shout  from  keen-eyed  Tengari, 
old  Kasim's  son.  "  The  cave !  The  cave !  Yonder  is 
the  cave." 

And  it  was;  but  to  all  appearance  disappointingly 
small.    Not  large  enough  to  hold  one-half  of  those  seek- 


KING-ERRANT  197 

ing  shelter,  though  the  surrounding  cHffs  in  some  meas- 
ure tempered  the  bitter  fierceness  of  the  wind. 

"  The  Most  High  had  better  go  in,"  said  Kasim,  as 
Babar  set  to  work  arranging  what  best  he  could  for  his 
troopers.     "  I  will  see  to  the  men." 

But  Babar  shook  his  head  and  went  on.  He  felt  that 
for  him  to  be  in  warmth  and  comfort  while  his  men 
were  in  snow  and  drift,  for  him  to  be  enjoying  sleep 
and  ease  while  his  followers  were  in  trouble  and  dis- 
tress would  be  inconsistent  from  what  he  owed  them 
and  a  deviation  from  that  society  in  suflfering  that  was 
their  due. 

" '  Death  in  the  company  of  friends  is  a  feast/  At 
any  rate,  so  runs  the  proverb,"  he  remarked  lightly. 
"  And  indeed,  Kasim,  having  brought  these  poor  souls 
to  this  pass,  it  is  but  right  that  whatever  their  suffer- 
ings and  difficulties,  whatever  they  may  have  to  un- 
dergo, I  should  be  equal  sharer  in  all." 

So  when  he  had  done  what  he  could  and  shown  others 
what  to  do,  he  took  a  hoe  and  dug  down  in  the  snow 
as  deep  as  his  breast  without  reaching  the  ground,  then 
crouched  down  in  it.  The  day  was  darkening,  evening 
prayer  time  had  passed,  and  still  belated  troopers  came 
dropping  in.  The  snow  was  now  falling  so  fast  that 
the  men  in  the  dug-out  shelter  ran  some  chance  of  be- 
ing smothered  as  they  slept  from  sheer  fatigue.  Babar 
himself  found  four  inches  of  snow  above  him  as  he 
scrambled  out  of  his  hole  when  a  last  party  straggled 
in,  bringing  Binai  the  guide,  with  the  welcome  news 
that  the  cave  was  far  larger  than  hasty  observation 
would  expect,  and  that  a  narrow  passage  led  to  quite 
a  spacious  cavern  within  where  there  was  ample  room 
for  all. 

Joyful  news  indeed!  Sending  out  to  call  in  all  his 
men,  Babar  soon  found  himself,  by  one  of  his  own  ex- 


198  KING-ERRANT 

traordinary  changes  of  luck,  in  a  wonderfully  warm, 
safe,  and  comfortable  place.  For  there  proved  to  be 
firewood  within  the  cave,  and  such  as  had  any  eatables, 
stewed  meat,  preserved  flesh,  or  anything  else  they 
might  have,  produced  them  for  a  common  meal.  Thus 
all  escaped,  as  by  a  miracle,  from  the  terrible  cold,  the 
snow,  the  bitter,  bitter  wind. 

And  the  rosy  wings  of  Love  fluttered  gaily,  as  Babar 
laid  himself  down  to  sleep  —  the  first  sleep  he  had  had 
for  days. 

It  was  the  turning  point;  though  there  was  still  dis- 
tress and  misery  to  come. 

The  snow,  however,  had  ceased  to  fall  by  the  morn- 
ing, the  wind  had  died  down.  Moving  with  the  first 
blink  of  dawn  they  still  had  to  tread  down  the  snow  in 
the  old  way:  but  it  was  with  more  hope.  The  cave  in 
which  they  had  rested  was,  as  they  were  aware,  close 
to  the  beginning  of  the  last  steep  ascent  to  the  Great 
Pass.  This,  the  shortest  way,  they  knew  to  be  impass- 
able, and  even  Kasim  and  his  sons,  warned  by  experi- 
ence, did  not  advise  its  attempt.  Bad  enough  was  a 
lower  valley  road  of  which  old  Binai  the  guide  had 
vaguely  heard.  Yet  it  was  their  only  chance,  so  they 
took  it.  But  evening  found  them  still  in  the  defile; 
and  such  was  its  precipitate  nature,  that  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  for  every  man  to  halt  where  he  found 
himself,  dismount,  scrape  a  hole  in  the  snow  for  him- 
self and  his  horse  if  possible,  and  so  await  the  tardy 
dawn  to  bring  sufficient  light  for  safe  advance.  It  was 
an  awful  night.  The  retreat  of  the  storm  had  brought 
frost ;  icy,  keen,  piercing ;  and  though  none  of  the  hardy 
troopers  actually  lost  their  lives,  many  lost  hands  and 
feet  from  frostbite.  Babar  himself  kept  his  blood  warm 
by  pacing  up  and  down,  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice 
with    that    curious    instinct    of    shouting    which    comes 


KING-ERRANT  199 

always  to  humanity  with  the  grip  of  cold.  Mayhap  it 
cheered  the  others  to  hear  the  mellow  melodious  chants 
echoing  so  blithely  over  the  snow. 

He  sang  many  things,  but  his  favourite  was  the 

SONG  OF  THE  SMILING  SHEPHERD 

From  Sunset  until  Dawn-of-Day, 
My  forehead  frozen  with  the  Frost, 
I  shut  mine  eyes  like  Wolf-at-Bay 
And  sing  to  find  the  Sheep  Tve  lost. 

When  Angels  walk  at  Break-of-Day 
Among  pale  wormwood  on  the  lea, 
Upon  the  Night-of-Power,  they  say, 
My  smiling  soul  came  unto  me. 

It  had  a  palace  of  pure  gold 

In  Paradise  and  yet  it  chose 

To  leave  the  Heat-of-Heaven  for  Cold 

And  help  me  find  the  Sheep  I  love. 

So  in  the  Dark  and  in  the  Snow 
We   twain   make   up  one   Perfect-Whole 
And  sing  glad  songs  the  while  we  go 
A   Smiling-Shepherd,   Smiling-Soul. 

Dawn  came  at  last  and  they  moved  down  the  glen. 
It  was  not  the  usual  road, —  that  was  more  circuitous 
—  but  with  the  snow  filling  up  the  valley  and  obliterat- 
ing precipices,  ravines,  crevasses,  there  seemed  a  chance 
of  being  able  to  manage  a  shorter  route,  and  time  meant 
so  much  to  those  exhausted  men. 

Yet  Babar  himself  halted  for  awhile,  and  so  did 
a  few  of  his  immediate  followers  when  his  horse 
stumbled,  fell,  could  not  rise. 


200  KING-ERRANT 

"  Take  mine,  my  liege,"  said  half-a-dozen  voices. 
But  the  young  man's  face  set. 

"  I  will  not  leave  the  beast/'  he  said  resolutely.  "  It 
hath  done  me  good  service  and  may  do  it  again.  See 
you!  bring  some  of  the  men's  lances  and  their  halter 
ropes.  Samur  and  I  live  together,  or  die  together,"  and 
he  laid  his  young  cheek  to  the  horse's  soft  muzzle  affec- 
tionately. 

Then  starting  up,  he  set  the  men  to  work  to  form 
a  criss-cross  raft  or  sledge  of  lances  on  to  which  Samur 
was   pulled  by  main   force. 

"  'Tis  all  down  hill  now,"  said  he  when  it  was  fin- 
ished, and  seizing  a  rope  strained  at  it. 

"  Nay !  Sire !  '*  remarked  old  Kasim  drily  — "  If  the 
Most  Excellent  choose  to  risk  lives  for  the  sake  of  a 
dumb  brute,  let  them  be  the  lives  of  dumb  brutes,  not 
Kings.     Troopers !     Six  horses  to  save  one !  " 

Babar  hung  his  head,  but  held  to  the  rope. 

"  Doubtless  I  am  a  brute  also,"  he  murmured  half  to 
himself,  "  so  let  me  be  dumb ;  save  for  this  —  God  made 
me  so !  " 

The  staunch  old  warrior  heard  the  words  and  shook 
his  head.  Yet  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  would  not  have 
altered  one  jot  or  one  tittle  in  his  idol.  Zahir-ud-din 
Mahomed  Babar  was  for  him  the  first  gentleman  in  the 
world. 

"  Truly,"  said  the  latter  with  pious  cheerfulness  after 
a  time,  during  which  the  sledge  slipped  easily  down  the 
steep  slopes  of  snow,  "  it  is  well  said 

*  Looked  at  wisely  with  clear  eyes 
Ills  are  blessings  in  disguise.' 

But  for  this  extreme  depth  of  snow  which  till  now  hath 
seemed  our  worst  enemy,  we  should  all  be  tumbling 
down  precipices  and  being  lost  in  crevasses." 


KING-ERRANT  201 

This  was  obvious;  but  it  cheered  the  party,  until  in 
the  far  distance  something  more  tangible  showed  to 
bring  sudden  alacrity  to  outwearied  steps. 

A  hut  surely ! 

And  that  figure  on  the  lessening  snow  slopes  —  was 
it  a  man? 

Still  it  was  nigh  bed-time  prayers  before  they  extri- 
cated themselves  from  the  mouth  of  the  valley  and  the 
villagers  of  Yaka-Aulang  came  out  to  meet  the  forlorn 
party,  to  help,  and  even  to  carry,  some  of  them  into 
warm  houses,  and  thereinafter  to  slaughter  fat  sheep 
for  them,  bring  a  superfluity  of  hay  and  grass  for  their 
horses,  and  abundance  of  wood  to  kindle  their  fires. 

Once  again  Babar  felt  that  to  pass  from  the  cold  and 
snow  into  such  a  village  with  its  warm  houses,  and  to 
escape  from  want  and  suffering  to  find  such  plenty  of 
good  bread  and  fat  sheep  as  they  did,  was  an  enjoy- 
ment that  can  only  be  conceived  by  such  as  have 
suffered  similar  hardships,  or  endured  such  heavy 
distress. 

But  better  by  far  to  him  than  this  material  satisfac- 
tion, was  the  glow  at  his  heart  when  an  old  white- 
headed  patriarch  nodding  by  the  fireside,  mumbled  — 

"  Never  has  it  been  done  before,  never  since  the 
memory  of  man  hath  Zerrin  been  passed  in  such  snow. 
Never  hath  any  man  ever  conceived  even  the  idea  of 
passing  it  at  such  season  —  Never !     Never !  " 

It  was  something  to  have  done!  After  this,  march- 
ing was  easy.  But  the  strain  had  told  upon  the  cour- 
age of  the  rank  and  file,  and  once  when  the  little  party 
came  upon  a  clan  of  Hazaras  who  disputed  passage  in 
a  narrow  defile,  there  was  near  disaster.  The  young 
King,  who  was  in  the  rear,  galloped  up  to  find  his  force 
retreating  before  a  deadly  flight  of  arrows. 

"  Stand !  "  he  shouted.     "  Stand !  "    But  the  men  would 


202  KING- ERRANT 

not  be  rallied.  "  Fools !  "  he  cried,  rising  in  his  stirrups, 
a  fine  young  figure,  unarmoured,  without  sword  or 
lance,  without  helmet  or  aught  but  his  bow  and  quiver 
—  for  the  attack  was  entirely  unforeseen  and  he  had 
been,  for  the  time,  ofif-duty  — "  Call  ye  yourselves  serv- 
ants to  stand  still  while  the  master  works?  Lo!  He 
who  hires  a  servant  hires  him  for  his  need ;  not  to  stand 
still  like  a  slipped  camel ! " 

So  with  a  wild  huroosh!  he  set  his  horse  spurring  for- 
ward. The  reckless  bravery  did  its  work.  The  men 
roused  by  it  turned  to  follow.  The  ambuscade  was 
reached,  the  hill  beyond  climbed  after  the  enemy,  who, 
seeing  the  troopers  were  in  real  earnest,  fled  like  deer. 
So  the  danger  passed;  but  Babar  wondered  vaguely 
that  night  if  it  was  to  be  ever  so;  if  the  great  mass  of 
humanity  ever  needed  a  flaming  match  ere  they  would 
catch  fire. 

But  there, was  more  trouble  to  come,  as,  with  such 
haste  as  was  possible  —  for  the  snow  which  was  very 
heavy  that  winter,  hindered  them  even  in  the  valleys  — 
they  pushed  on  towards  Kabul. 

It  was  one  day  at  noon  when,  being  almost  perished 
with  the  frost,  they  had  alighted  to  kindle  fires  and  warm 
themselves  ere  going  on,  that  a  messenger  on  horseback 
arrived  with  ill  news.  The  Moghuls  left  behind  in 
Kabul  had  risen,  and,  aided  by  outsiders  and  som.e  of  the 
immediate  relations  of  the  King,  had  declared  for  Ba- 
bar's  young  cousin  Weis-Khan,  on  whose  behalf  they 
were  now  besieging  the  Fort,  which  in  capable  and  loyal 
hands  was  still  holding  out  for  the  rightful  King, 

"  Said  I  not  so,  sire  ? "  remarked  old  Kasim  drily. 
"  The  devil  is  in  it  when  women  are  left  alone  too 
long." 

Babar  flushed.  "The  devil  is  in  a  Moghul  thou 
meanest." 


KING-ERRANT  203 

Kasim  sniffed.  "The  Most  High's  step-grandmother 
Shah-Begum  is  of  pure  Moghul  descent,  I  grant,  if  that 
is  what  my  liege  means.  I  stake  my  word  she  is  in  it. 
Did  I  not  beg  the  Most  High  to  send  her  packing  back 
to  Tashkend?  Aye!  and  the  boy  and  his  mother  too. 
Also  the  other  aunt  of  my  liege's  who  married  the  com- 
moner Doghlat;  wherefore,  God  knows,  since  some  of 
us  had  better  right  to  royal  wives  than  he.  But  if  'tis 
a  question  of  aunts!  the  Most  High  is  soft  as  buffalo 
butter/' 

Babar  bit  his  lip.  He  felt  that  old  Kasim  had  right 
on  his  side ;  but  what  could  one  do  ?  They  were  women, 
and  he  was  undoubtedly  the  head  of  the  family.  But 
this  was  serious;  the  more  so  because  the  messenger 
said  that  reports  had  been  diligently  circulated  to  the 
effect  that  he,  Babar,  had  been  imprisoned  in  Herat  by 
his  cousins ;  and  would  never  return. 

"  They  must  know  that  I  shall  return,"  said  the  young 
leader  grimly,  and  forthwith  wrote  despatches  to  be  con- 
veyed to  known  loyalists  in  the  town,  advising  them  of 
his  immediate  appearance,  of  which,  however,  they  were 
to  say  nothing.  A  blazing  fire  on  the  last  hill-top  would 
herald  his  approach ;  this  was  to  be  answered  by  a  flare 
on  the  top  of  the  citadel,  showing  that  it  was  ready  for 
a  combined  surprise-attack  on  the  besieging  force. 

With  these  orders  given  stringently,  Babar  set  out  at 
nightfall.  By  dawn  Kabul  lay  before  them  and  a  glow 
of  light  from  the  citadel  answered  their  signal  fire. 
All  therefore  was  in  readiness,  so  they  crept  on  to  Syed 
Kasim's  bridge.  Here  Babar  detailed  his  force,  send- 
ing Shirim-Taghai  with  the  right  wing  to  another  bridge ; 
he  himself  with  the  centre  and  left,  making  for  the  town. 
Here,  instantly  all  was  uproar  and  alarm.  The  alleys 
were  narrow;  the  assailants  and  defenders  crowded  into 
them  could  scarce  move  their  horses. 


204  KING-ERRANT 

*'  Dismount !  cut  your  way  through ! "  rang  out  the 
order  and  it  was  obeyed.  A  few  minutes  later  Babar 
was  in  the  Four-corner  Garden  where  he  knew  the 
young  aspirant  was  quartered,  but  he  had  fled.  Babar 
followed  in  his  track.  At  the  gate  he  met  an  old  friend, 
the  Chief-Constable  of  the  town,  who  made  at  him  with 
a  drawn  sword.  Babar,  after  his  usual  fashion,  had 
despised  either  plate-mail  or  helmet,  and  when,  whether 
from  confusion  of  ideas  arising  from  the  battle  of  fight, 
or  from  the  snow  and  cold  affecting  his  eyesight,  the 
swordsman  failing  to  recognise  his  King  or  heed  his  cry 
of  "  Friend,  Friend,"  hit  a  shrewd  blow,  Babar  was 
like  to  have  his  arm  shorn  off.  But  the  grace  of  God 
was  conspicuous.     Not  even  a  hair  was  hurt. 

So,  as  quick  as  he  could  to  the  palace  of  Doghlat- 
commoner,  where  he  found  Kasim  already  on  the  track 
of  the  traitor;  but  the  latter  had  escaped!  Here 
a  Moghul  who  had  been  in  Babar's  service  deliberately 
fitted  an  arrow  to  his  bow,  aimed  at  the  King  and  let 
go.  But  the  uproar  raised  around  him,  the  cries  and 
shouts  "  That  is  the  King !  That  is  the  King !  "  must 
have  disconcerted  his  aim,  for  he  failed  of  his  mark. 
And  here  also  one  of  the  chief  rebels  was  brought  in 
ignominiously,  a  rope  round  his  neck.  He  fell  at  the 
young  King's  feet. 

"Sire,"  he  whined,  ''what  fault  is  mine?" 

The  young  face  was  stern  indeed.  *'  Is  there  greater 
crime,"  came  the  clear,  cold  answer,  "  than  for  a  man 
of  worth  and  family  as  thou  art,  to  conspire  and  asso- 
ciate with  revolutionaries  ? "  Then  the  contemptuous 
order  came  sharp,  "  But  remove  that  rope  and  let  him 
go  hang  himself.  He  is  of  my  family,  no  harm  shall 
happen  to  him  through  me." 

So  on  again  through  the  town  (where  the  rabble  had 
taken  to  clubs  and  were  making  a  riot)  in  order  to  sta- 


KING-ERRANT  205 

tion  parties  here  and  there  to  disperse  the  crowds  and 
prevent  plunder. 

Thus,  growing  cooler,  more  dignified  as  stress  ceased, 
to  the  Paradise-Gardens  where  the  Begums  lived.  No 
time  like  the  present  to  show  his  mettle,  to  let  these 
foolish  women  know  that  he  did  not  consider  their  in- 
trigues worth  a  man's  consideration.  He  found  the 
chief-conspirator  Shah-Begum  huddled  up,  out  of  all 
measure  alarmed,  confounded,  dismayed,  ashamed.  All 
the  more  so  when  that  brilliant  young  figure  paused  at 
the  door  to  make  its  accustomed  and  reverential  salu- 
tation. He  looked  well,  did  Babar,  with  the  fire  of  fight 
still  in  his  eyes,  a  certain  quizzical  affection  about  his 
mouth.  "  I  salute  thee,  O  revered  step-grandmother," 
he  said  cheerfully,  good-humouredly. 

So  crossing,  he  went  down  on  his  knees  in  filial 
fashion  and  embraced  the  old  lady  cordially. 

Whereupon,  of  course,  she  began  to  whimper.  Babar 
sat  back  and  looked  at  her  kindly. 

"  Wherefore,  revered  one  ?  Lo !  I  am  not  vexed. 
What  right  has  a  child  to  be  so  because  his  mother's 
bounty  descends  upon  another?  The  mother's  authority 
over  her  children  is  in  all  respects  absolute,  save  that 
this  grandson,  and  not  the  other  is  King  of  Kabul ! " 
Then  he  laughed :  "  Lo ! "  he  added,  "  I  am  so  sleepy. 
I  have  not  slept  all  night.  Let  me  rest  my  hand  on  thy 
bosom,  grandmother,  as  I  used  to  rest  it  on  my 
mother's." 

The  whimper  changed  into  a  storm  of  sobs. 

And  afterwards  when  the  young  aspirant  and  the 
Doghlat-commoner  had  been  caught  and  brought  up 
for  condign  punishment  by  Kasim,  he  forgave  them 
both. 

"  But  the  traitor  deserves  death,  sire,"  stuttered  the 
stern  old  martinet.     ''  He  hath  been  guilty  of  mutiny. 


206  KING-ERRANT 

rebellion.  He  is  criminal,  guilty;  and  the  younger  one 
is  devil's  spawn." 

"  You  mistake,  old  friend,"  said  the  young  King 
quietly ;  "  they  are  of  my  family." 

Poor  old  Kasim  had  to  content  himself  by  assenting 
loudly  in  whatever  company  he  found  himself  that  how- 
ever much  the  King  might  try  to  wear  away  the  rust 
of  shame  with  the  polish  of  mildness  and  humanity  he 
was  unable  to  wipe  out  the  dimness  of  ignominy  which 
had  covered  the  mirror  of  those  miscreants'  lives. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Yes!     Love  triumphant  came,   engrossing  all 
The  fond  luxuriant  thoughts  of  youth  and  mind; 
Then  in  soft  converse  did  they  pass  the  hours, 
Their  passion  like  the  season  fresh  and  fair. 

Nisdmi. 

The  Judas  trees  were  in  full  blossom.  But  a  day  or 
two  before  they  had  been  dry  branches,  brown,  wrinkled, 
to  all  appearances  dead.  Now,  with  a  swiftness  nigh 
miraculous  they  had  flushed,  every  inch  of  finest  twig, 
to  rosy  red  under  their  mantle  of  sweet-scented  bloom. 
The  ground  underneath  them  was  already  carpeted 
with  fallen  flowers,  their  five-petalled  cups,  like  those  of 
a  regal  geranium,  still  perfect  utterly. 

"  'Tis  like  the  blossoming  of  love  in  the  heart,  is  it 
not,  little  one  ?  "  said  Babar  idly,  as,  lying  amid  the  spent 
blossoms  he  raised  one  to  perch  it  coquettishly  on  the 
goldy-brown  curls  that  rested  on  his  breast. 

He  had  been  married  five  months  to  little  Cousin 
Ma'asuma  but  it  seemed  to  him  like  five  days.  Aye! 
though  happenings  stern  and  sad  had  filled  the  interval, 
Kasim  had  been  right.  Herat  had  been  plundered  by 
the  arch-enemy  Shaibani.  His  cousins  had  fled,  leaving 
wives  and  children  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  con- 
querors. 

At  another  time  Babar's  hot  anger  might  have 
led  him  to  attempt  reprisals,  though  he  knew  it  would 
be  but  an  attempt.  But  in  these  first  months  of  mar- 
riage he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  leave  little 
Ma'asuma  for  any  time  —  if,  indeed  she  would  have  al- 
lowed him  to  do  so.     For  small,  young,  delicate  as  she 

207 


208  KING-ERRANT 

was,  those  violet  eyes  of  hers  could  set  hard  as  sap- 
phires. Aye!  and  have  a  gleam  in  them  too,  like  any 
gem. 

The  first  time  Babar  saw  it,  he  caught  her  in  his 
arms  and  half  smothered  her  with  kisses  until  she  bade 
him  peremptorily  put  her  down.  And  then  they  had 
both  laughed,  and  Babar  had  vowed  in  his  heart,  that 
never  had  lover  been  so  fortunate  as  he.  His  mistress 
was  —  what  was  she  not?  Briefly,  she  was  all  things 
to  him.  He  had  never  been  in  love  with  a  woman  be- 
fore, and  his  self-surrender  was  complete. 

Small  wonder,  indeed,  if  it  were ;  for  there  was  some- 
thing almost  uncanny  in  the  beauty  of  the  face  which 
looked  up  at  him,  love  in  its  eyes.  • 

"  Put  it  on  thine  own  rough  head,  man,"  she  said 
superbly,  "  thou  needest  ornament  more  than  I." 

And  It  was  true.  From  the  tiny  silvern  and  golden 
slipper  she  had  kicked  off,  to  the  light,  gold-spangled 
veil  which  just  touched  her  curly  head,  she  was  orna- 
ment personified.  The  dainty  heart-shaped  opening  of 
the  violet-tinted  gauze  bodice  she  wore  over  a  pale  green 
corselet  was  all  set  with  seed-pearls  and  turquoises, 
hung  on  cunning  little  silvern  tendrils.  And  the  corselet 
itself!  all  veined  with  golden  threads  and  pale  moon- 
stones. So  with  the  flimsy,  full,  almost  transparent 
muslin  petticoat,  pale  pale  green,  that  lay  in  shrouding 
folds  over  the  violet-tinted  under  garment.  All  edged 
and  embroidered,  all  scent-sodden  with  the  perfume  of 
violets  —  his  favourite  flower  then;  to  be  his  favourite 
flower  till  his  death.  Truly  a  marvellous  small  person 
from  head  to  foot! 

"  Have  a  care,  man,"  she  said  sternly,  as  he  crushed 
her  closer  to  him,  "  or  we  shall  quarrel ;  and  'tis  not 
good  for  me  to  quarrel  —  now." 

He  released  her  quickly,  yet  cautiously;  gentle  as  he 


KING-ERRANT  209 

was,  he  was  always  forgetting,  he  told  himself,  that  she 
was  doubly  precious  to  him  —  now. 

"  Lo !  dear  heart !  "  he  said  penitently,  "  we  have  not 
quarrelled  these  five  days/' 

"  Not  since  I  was  angry  because  the  tire-woman  over- 
dyed my  hands  with  henna,"  she  replied  mischievously. 
"  And  thou  didst  tell  me  there  were  worse  evils  for  tears. 
As  if  I  cared;  so  long  as  my  hands  were  not  pretty 
.  .  .  for  thee."  She  held  them  up  for  him  to  ad- 
mire. And  they  were  pretty.  Delicate,  and  curved, 
and  pink,  like  rose-petals.  He  kissed  them  dutifully; 
so  much  he  knew  was  expected  of  him,  and  he  loved  the 
task. 

"  And  as  penance  for  rudeness,  man,"  she  went  on, 
her  face  all  dimples,  "  thou  wert  to  write  me  a  love  ode 
on  the  subject.     Hast  done  it,  sirrah?" 

"  That  have  I,"  assented  her  lover  husband  gladly. 
**  Dost  know,  little  one,  I  string  more  pearls  now  than 
ever;  but  thou  —  thou  hast  not  written  one  line  since 
we  were  married;  yet  thou  hadst  the  prettiest  art." 

Ma'asuma  lay  back  on  her  resting-place  and  laughed 
softly.  "  Someday,  stupid,  I  will  tell  thee  why.  But 
now  for  thy  verses." 

Babar  caught  up  his  lute  and  sat  tuning  it,  his  eyes 
wandering  away  to  the  girdle  of  snows  that  clipped  the 
blue  hill-horizon.  They  were  in  the  garden  of  the  New 
Year;  alone,  save  for  that  dear  grave  yonder  where  the 
jasmine  flowers  were  drooping  their  scented  waxen 
stars. 

Dear  mother !  How  glad  she  would  have  been  to  see 
Ma'asuma,  to  think  of  the  grandson  who  was  so  soon 
to  make  life  absolutely  perfect.  Yes!  the  cup  of  life, 
the  Crystal  Bowl  could  hold  no  more.  He  lost  himself 
in  dreams,  to  be  roused  by  an  impatient,  *'  Well !  I 
listen." 


210  KING-ERRANT 

Then  he  turned  and  smiled  at  her  as  he  began  with 
exaggerated  expression. 

"  Oh,  fair  impassioned,  whom  God  hath  fashioned 
My  love  to  be, 

Thy  hands  so  tender,  thy  fingers  slender 
Rosy  I  see. 

Be   they    flower-tinted    or   blood-imprinted 
From  my  poor  heart? 
Torn  by  thy  smiling,  tears  and  beguiling 
Feminine  art. 

Yet,  sweet  calamity !  dwell  we  in  amity 
Each  perfect  day. 

Yea !  in  the  bright  time.    Yea !  in  the  night  time, 
Lovers  alway.'* 

"  Sweet  calamity ! "  she  echoed,  pouting  her  lips  and 
trying  hard  to  frown,  as  the  song  finished.  "  Couldst 
find  no  other  title  for  thy  lawful  wife?  And  yet — " 
here  smiles  overcame  her  — "  Lo  I  Babar !  'tis  a  beauti- 
ful name  and  I  am  thy  sweet  calamity  alway,  alway ! " 
Then  suddenly,  to  his  dismay,  she  began  to  cry  softly, 
the  big  tears  running  down  her  pretty  cheeks  in  easy 
childish  fashion.  "  Nay ! ''  she  went  on,  half-smiles 
again  at  his  solicitude,  "  I  am  not  ill, —  there  is  naught 
wrong.  'Tis  only  that  I  am  lonely  when  thou  art  do- 
ing King's  work,  which  must  be  done.  If  only  foster- 
sister  would  come,  I  should  not  be  so  frightened." 

"  But  my  Yenkam,  thy  mother,  will  be  here  — *'  pro- 
tested Babar. 

Ma'asuma  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  now,  dear  heart ! 
And  foster-sister  will  not  come  unless  thou  askest  her. 
She  said  so.     Couldst  not  write  to  her,  Babar  ?  " 

"  But  I  know  not  foster-sister,  nor  aught  of  her, 
save  that  she  was  good  to  my  Ma'asuma,  for  which,  may 
Heaven  reward  her !  " 


KING-ERRANT  211 

Ma'asiima  sat  up,  her  charming  face  happy  in 
thought.  "  Oh !  so  good,  my  lord !  Not  a  real  foster- 
sister,  either;  but  we  sat  under  one  veil  and  drank 
milk  out  of  one  cup.  That  was  when  we  first  came  to 
Khorasan,  thy  Yenkam  and  I.  And  since  then  she  — 
Babar !  —  Be  not  angry  but  I  will  tell  thee  —  I  meant 
to  have  told  thee  —  I  should  have  told  thee  before  — " 

The  violet  eyes  showed  trouble  once  more  and  Babar 
kissed  them  deliberately.  ''What,  sweetheart?"  he 
asked  carelessly.  He  knew  the  gentle  kindly  heart  too 
well  to  fear  any  revelation. 

"  Only  it  was  she,  not  I,  who  wrote  the  verses  —  the 
verses  I  sent  —  I  was  too  stupid.  And  she  is  clever  — 
oh !  so  clever !  " 

Despite  his  certitude  the  young  man  looked  startled. 
"  So,"  he  said  at  last,  "  Fortune  hath  not  given  me  the 
grace  of  a  poetess  to  wife.  So  be  it.  But  who  is  this 
paragon  ?  " 

Ma'asuma,  however,  was  too  delighted  at  having  got 
over  her  confession  so  happily  to  refrain  from  auto- 
cratic dignity. 

"  That  I  have  said.  She  is  foster-sister  and  of  the 
circle  of  distinction.  Thy  Yenkam  can  tell  thee  of 
genealogies;  they  tire  my  head.  So  write!  Dost 
hear?" 

Babar  laughed.  He  loved  to  take  orders  from  those 
sweet  lips ;  besides  a  certain  zest  came  with  the  idea  of 
writing  to  an  unknown  poetess. 

"Yea!  I  will  write,"  he  said  meekly,  "but  I  will 
have  to  regard  ^als  and  :^es;  for  more  elegant  nasta- 
Ilk  saw  I  never  than  hers." 

So  the  letter  was  written  and  despatched  express  to 
the  care  of  his  Yenkam  at  Khorasan,  and  six  weeks 
later  little  Ma'asuma  sat  beside  her  foster-sister  in  the 
summer  house  of  the  new  Garden  of  Fidelity  which  Ba- 


212  KING-ERRANT 

bar  was  laying  out  at  Adinahpore,  and  whither  he  had 
taken  his  young  wife  whose  daily  increasing  delicacy 
filled  him  with  concern.  Of  all  the  gardens  that  Ba- 
bar  planted  and  watered,  this  was  the  one  nearest  his 
heart.  In  a  most  romantic  situation,  on  the  south  side 
of,  and  overlooking  the  river,  its  groves  of  oranges  and 
citrons  grew  untouched  by  hard  winter  frosts,  while 
every  flower,  every  tree  of  his  beloved  hill  country 
flourished  side  by  side  with  those  of  warm  climates. 
Above  it  towered  the  White-Mountain  and  the  Almond- 
Spring  Pass,  below  it  the  valley  debouched  into  wide 
fertility. 

And  Babar  was  hard  at  work,  delving  away  himself 
like  any  Adam;  making  a  four-square  cross  of  marble 
reservoirs,  through  which  the  clear,  hill  stream  might 
run,  planting  new  flowers  from  here,  there,  everywhere. 
The  tan  of  his  sunburnt  face  and  hands  contrasted  sadly 
with  the  sallowing  skin  of  the  girl-wife,  who,  despite 
his  care,  was  sinking  under  her  task  of  son-bearing. 

"  Then  he  knows  not  who  I  am,"  said  the  tall,  slender 
woman  on  whose  knee  Ma'asuma  was  resting  her  pretty, 
weary  head.  "  I  deemed  thou  hadst  told  him,  as  we 
agreed."  She  spoke  gravely  and  her  level  black  brows 
were  faintly  knit.  The  rest  of  the  face  was  richly 
beautiful  in  strong  sweeping  curves,  but  those  level 
brows  and  the  dark,  thoughtful  eyes  beneath  them  held 
the  attention.  "  Not  that  it  matters,"  she  added  quickly, 
seeing  tears  ready  to  brim  over  the  violets  upturned 
to  her.  "  After  all,  'tis  nothing  to  thy  lord  —  or  to 
any  other  man  —  whether  I  be  widow  to  Mirza  Gharib 
Beg  or  no,  so  long  as  I  be  honourable  woman.  There- 
fore tell  him  not,  now  that  I  am  here."  And  Babar 
coming  in  to  see  his  wife  found  the  veiled  new-comer 
courteous  in  speech,  charming  in  manner.  Found  also 
5uch  favourable  change  in  his  darling's  spirits,  that  a 


KING-ERRANT  213 

glow  of  comradeship  for  his  aide  rose  up  in  his  soft 
heart  at  once. 

So  they  were  very  happy  together,  those  three,  and 
by  degrees  foster-sister's  thick  enshrouding  veil  was 
changed  for  a  more  filmy  one  and  Babar  could  get  a 
glimpse  of  those  glorious  eyes  and  see  the  little  satirical 
smile  about  the  strong  curves  of  the  mouth. 

They  reminded  him  vaguely,  why  he  knew  not,  of  his 
dead  Cousin  Gharib;  but  he  never  spoke  of  this  to 
Ma'asuma.  With  her  burden  of  coming  life  it  would  be 
unlucky  to  speak  of  the  dead.  Thus  a  week  or  two 
went  by,  and  all  insensibly  the  man  learnt  to  rely  on 
the  woman  who  shared  with  him  the  charge  of  the  girl. 

"  The  Most-Benevolent  one  is  very  good  to  my  wife," 
he  said  suddenly  one  day,  "  and  my  gratitude  can  only 
lie  in  words." 

The  Most-Benevolent  bowed  gravely.  "  Thanks  are 
not  needed.  Ma'asuma-Begum  came  into  this  dust-like 
one's  life,  when  it  was  unhappy.  She  hath  been  God's 
best  boon  to  me." 

"And  to  me  also,"  answered  the  young  husband 
sadly.  Do  what  he  would  he  could  not  escape  from 
fear,  the  shadow  of  impending  evil  seemed  to  darken 
his  life.  He  had  to  brisk  and  hearken  himself  up  to  face 
the  future;  for  perilous  times  were  at  hand.  The  fate- 
ful seventh  month,  so  much  dreaded  by  Indian  midwives 
was  beginning;  but  his  Yenkam  would  be  with  her 
daughter  in  a  day  or  two,  they  would  together  take 
Ma'asuma  back  in  her  litter  to  Kabul  by  easy  stages,  and 
all  would,  all  must,  go  well. 

It  was  one  glorious  morning  in  early  August  when 
this  feeling  of  ill  to  come,  made  him  catch  up  his  lute 
to  chase  away  thought  by  song.  He  had  carried  little 
Ma'asuma  himself  down  to  the  tank  half  surrounded  by 
burnished  orange  trees  which  was  the  very  eye  of  the 


214  KING-ERRANT 

beauty  of  the  garden.  They  had  dismissed  all  attend- 
ants, bidding  them  leave  behind  them  their  trays  of  sher- 
bet and  sweetmeats.  But  not  even  the  perfect  loveli- 
ness of  hill,  and  sky,  and  garden,  not  even  the  faint 
flush,  as  of  returning  health,  on  the  invalid's  face  could 
charm  the  splendour  of  Life  into  Babar's  soul  The 
Crystal  Bowl  seemed  dull,  opaque. 

This  must  not  be. 

He  set  the  strings  of  his  lute  a-twanging  and  began  — 

"  Clear  crystal  bowl.    Thy  wine  bubbles  laugh — " 

The  figure  seated  by  the  tank  side,  its  reflection  in  the 
water,  rose  suddenly  as  if  startled,  gathered  its  dra- 
peries round  it,  so,  with  face  averted,  strolled  off  into 
the  garden. 

"  There !  "  came  Ma'asuma's  reproachful  voice,  "  thou 
hast  driven  her  away,  stupid !  " 

The  young  man  arrested  in  his  song  looked  hurt. 
**  But  wherefore  ?     Tis  a  good  song." 

"  Good  mayhap,"  came  the  thoughtless  answer,  "  but, 
see  you!     It  reminds  her  of  Gharib-Beg  who  wrote  it." 

**And  wherefore  not?"  asked  Babar  swiftly. 

Little  Ma'asuma  looked  scared.  "  Lo !  There  I  have 
told  thee!  and  I  said  I  would  hold  my  tongue!  Be- 
cause, see  you,  Gharib-Beg  married  and  left  her  in  the 
old  days;  whether  rightly  as  some  say,  or  foolishly,  as 
others,  I  know  not;  but  'twas  so.  She  was  religious  for 
long  years  and  when  I  went  to  the  school  to  learn  the 
Holy  Book,  we  became  friends.  And  oh!  Babar,  thou 
wilt  never  know  how  good  she  was  to  me  when  I  fell 
in  love  with  my  lord  —  and  he  with  me."  The  roguish 
face,  looking  more  like  itself  than  he  had  seen  it  for 
months,  nestled  on  to  his  shoulder. 

He  put  his  arm  round  the  slender  figure  and  drew  it 


KING-ERRANT  215 

to  him  mechanically,  grateful  that  her  words  had  given 
him  time  to  pull  himself  together. 

Gharib-Beg's  wife!  The  woman  he  had  called 
"  Maham  —  his  moon  ! '' 

"  So."  he  said  with  an  effort,  **  she  was  my  cousin's 
wife ;  but  wherefore     .     .     .     was  I  not  told  ?  *' 

Ma'asuma  pouted.  **  Because  I  did  not  at  first.  And 
then  when  she  came,  she  would  not  have  it  —  why  I 
know  not  —  save  that  mayhap,  before  the  son  was  com- 
ing, I  wanted  thy  praise  for  —  for  such  things  as  verses. 
And  now,  my  lord  must  say  naught.  Promise  me  he 
will  not,  or  she  will  be  vexed." 

"  I  will  not  vex  her,"  he  said  diplomatically,  and 
changed  the  subject  adroitly  by  picking  up  a  tiny  red- 
silk  cap  half  embroidered  with  seed  pearls  on  which 
his  wife  had  been  working,  and  which  had  fallen  on  the 
path. 

"  Lo !  "  he  laughed,  "  is  that  the  way  to  treat  my  son's 
head-dress !  "  And  he  held  the  ridiculous  little  object  out 
on  his  forefinger  and  twirled  it  round.  So  the  question 
passed.  But  he  was  of  too  frank  a  nature  to  palliate 
concealment  and  that  night  when  the  moon  had  risen, 
he  found  himself  once  more  confronting  a  tall,  slender 
figure  that  stood,  aggressively  this  time,  against  a 
marble  pillar.  But  there  was  no  swinging  lamp  to  cast 
a  rose  reflection  between  them. 

"  Yea !  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  Babar,"  said  the 
proud  voice.  "  It  is  even  as  my  lord  hath  divined.  I 
knew.  I  was  the  lad  who  brought  my  lord  his  mistress's 
message  —  which  /  had  written.  It  was  to  me  that  my 
lord  gave  his  '  I  love  thee,  ever,  ever ! '  This  being 
so,  what  else  was  there  left  to  do,  save  what  was 
done?" 

The  finality  of  her  words  struck  Babar  like  a  blow. 
He  never  minced  matters  even  with  himself. 


216  KING-ERRANT 

''Naught,"  he  said  gloomily.  ''Naught."  Then  he 
added,  "But  now?" 

The  veiled  figure  caught  him  up  quickly.  "  Now  ? 
She  must  not  know;  she  must  never  know." 

Babar  stood  still  and  leaning  his  head  on  his  arm 
against  the  pilaster,  looked  out  into  the  garden.  It  lay 
silvern,  peaceful,  a  thing  of  perfect  beauty,  a  place 
wherein  no  sinful  man  should  walk  or  set  foot.  "  Lo !  " 
came  the  sweet  voice.  "  I  have  kept  —  I  will  keep  my 
lord's  ring.     It  was  not  he  who  broke  faith,  but  I." 

"  The  Most-Noble  is  very  good,"  he  said  simply  and 
left  her.     There  was  no  more  to  say. 

Had  there  been  more,  there  would  have  been  little  time 
for  it. 

A  hasty  twinkling  light  showed  ere  long  adown  the 
palace  colonnade.  Voices  came  in  excited  whispers. 
Her  Highness,  the  Begum,  was  not  well.  God  send  it 
might  be  nothing;  but  'twas  the  fateful  month. 

Fateful,  indeed!  All  that  night  long  Babar  waited  in 
a  fever  of  anxiety,  listening  to  the  fitful  wails,  the 
thousand  and  one  slight  sounds  of  sudden,  direful  sick- 
ness. What  were  they  doing  to  his  Ma'asuma?  his 
little  Ma'asuma,  his  love,  his  heart's  darling,  his  little 
one?     Would  he  ever  see  her  again? 

The  dawn  came,  and  still  he  watched,  still  he  waited. 
The  birds  in  the  bushes  began  to  sing  —  to  sing  for- 
sooth! while  she  lay  in  the  shadow  of  death!  Heart- 
less !  cruel !  For  she  must  die !  so  small,  so  slender,  how 
could  she  stand  out  against  those  long  hours  of  agony. 
Noon  passed  and  still  he  waited,  every  nerve  in  his 
strong  young  body  wearied  by  imagined  pain. 

It  was  not  till  sun-setting  that  a  voice  roused  him  as 
he  sat  crouched  in  on  himself: 

"  My  lord  has  a  daughter." 

He  was  on  his  feet  in  a  second,  setting  the  idea  aside 


KING-ERRANT  217 

as  trivial.  What  was  son  or  daughter  to  him  beside  his 
dearest  dear? 

''She?"  he  asked  breathlesoly. 

*'  My  lord  had  best  come  and  see,"  replied  the  kind, 
sympathetic  voice;  he  recognised  it  faintly,  but  it  made 
no  impression  on  him. 

The  small  room  was  hot  and  close ;  full  of  smoke  also 
from  a  useless  fire  hastily  lit  up.  And  Ma'asuma  lay 
covered  by  endless  quilts.  But  it  was  Ma'asuma  herself 
who  lay  there  peaceful  as  if  already  dead;  but  her  face 
was  alight  with  feeble  smiles.  Only  for  a  moment,  how- 
ever ;  then  the  curly,  goldy-brown  head  turned  restlessly 
on  the  pillow. 

"  I  am  sorry  — "  she  murmured,  "I  —  I  wanted  it  to 
be  a  son,  but  —  but  — "  the  voice  trailed  away  into  weaker 
sobbing. 

"  Hush !  silly  one !  "  said  Babar  gently,  his  heart  in 
his  mouth  as  he  noted  her  looks.  "  What  God  gives  is 
best.     If  she  is  like  thee  she  will  be  all  I  need." 

A  small  trembling  hand  fluttered  out  to  a  corner  of 
the  coverlet.  "  Like  me.  I  know  not.  Babar !  What 
wilt  thou  call  her,  when  I  am  gone  ? " 

The  words  cut  him  like  a  knife,  because  he  knew 
they  were  true;  there  was  something  which  told  him 
that  the  dearest  thing  on  earth  to  him  was  fast  slipping 
from  his  grasp.  Yet  the  simplicity  of  his  nature  kept 
him  calm. 

"  I  will  give  her  her  mother's  name,"  he  said  quietly. 

Ma'asuma  sighed  with  content  and  was  silent  for  a 
space.  Then  after  a  while  her  voice,  weaker  than  ever, 
rose  again,  a  low,  monotonous  voice  that  told  of  ebbing 
strength. 

"  Babar !  who  will  nurse  my  child  ?  Give  her  not  to 
strange  women.  Lo !  I  never  loved  strangers ;  nor  dost 
thou,  thou,  dear  heart.     Foster-sister  where  art  thou? 


218  KING-ERRANT 

Send  the  strangers  away  and  the  slaves,  and  come  close. 
I  want  thee/' 

One  wave  of  Babar's  hand  cleared  the  little  room,  and 
once  more  came  that  faint  sigh  of  content. 

"  That  is  nice.  Only  thou,  and  I,  and  she,  and  little 
Ma'asuma  —  all  the  folk  I  love  in  the  world.  That  is 
right."  For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  sleep,  and  when 
she  opened  her  eyes  there  were  dreams  in  them. 

"  Set  the  window  wide.  I  would  see  the  sunset,"  she 
said  in  quite  a  strong  voice  and  when  the  red  light 
flooded  into  the  little  dark  room  she  lay  in  it  peacefully. 

"  Will  it  not  mayhap  hurt  ?  "  whispered  the  tall  figure 
in  white. 

"  She  is  past  hurt,"  whispered  Babar  back.  His  heart 
was  as  a  stone.  He  could  not  have  wept,  he  could  not 
even  feel  grief. 

"  Thy  hand,  my  heart,"  came  the  voice  feeble  again, 
*'  and  thine,  sister  —  how  warm  they  are  and  mine  grow 
so  cold  —  so  cold.  Yet  that  matters  not.  I  am  only  — 
only  the  Kazi."  The  ghost  of  a  flickering  smile  hov- 
ered over  the  lips  that,  in  the  monotonous  Arabic  drawl 
of  the  professional  priest,  began  on  the  opening  sen- 
tences of  the  Mahomedan  wedding  service. 

The  man  and  the  woman  standing  instinct  with  Life, 
looked  helplessly  at  each  other  and  instinctively  drew 
apart. 

Ma'asuma's  violet  eyes  seemed  to  strive  with  coming 
darkness.  "  Don't,"  she  murmured.  "  It  is  not  kind ! 
Look  you,  I  cannot  see ;  and  my  hands  are  so  weak.  Be 
quick  or  I  shall  not  hear.  Say  it  quickly  and  then  there 
will  be  peace,  then  I  shall  have  given  my  lord  a  son  — 
then  we  shall  all  be  at  rest.     It  is  the  last  thing — " 

There  was  a  second  of  silence  and  then  Babar's  clasp 
on  the  hand  he  held  beneath  that  small  chill  one 
tightened,  and  his  voice  rang  clear. 


KING-ERRANT  219 

"  Before  God  I  take  this  woman  to  be  my  wedded 
wife." 

And  swift  on  the  words  came  a  woman's  voice,  "  Be-- 
fore  God  I  take  this  man  to  be  my  husband,  the  father 
of  our  son." 

A  sigh  of  content  seemed  almost  to  end  life,  and  there 
was  silence  for  a  space.  But  it  was  broken  by  a  pitiful, 
helpless  murmur,  "  The  ring !  I  have  forgotten  the 
ring." 

"  I  have  It  already,  sweetheart,"  came  the  woman's 
voice,  soft,  calm,  soothing.  So  they  stood,  till  the 
chill  little  hands  grew  more  chill  in  the  warm 
clasps  that  held  them ;  finally  one  withdrew  itself  slowly, 
slowly,  and  Babar  was  left  alone  with  Death  and  Love. 

The  tall  white  figure  fell  on  its  knees  and  wept 
softly;  but  Babar  stood  still,  stern,  calm.  What  use  to 
kiss  unconscious  lips?  What  use  to  strain  at  broken 
cords  ? 

"  She  hath  found  freedom,"  he  said  after  a  time. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  kneeling  figure.  "  Maham,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  Thou  wilt  see  to  little  Ma'asuma  for  me, 
wilt  thou  not?" 

It  was  sunrise  when  they  laid  to  rest  Babar's  first  and 
in  a  way,  his  only  love.  The  birds  were  singing  in  the 
garden  he  had  made  so  beautiful.  The  roses  that  decked 
the  grave  were  full  of  scent.  But  Babar  noticed  none 
of  these  things,  he  moved  about  calm,  self-controlled, 
conscious  of  but  one  thing,  that  he  was  glad  he  was  not 
at  Kabul  where  he  would  have  had  wailing  women  and 
ceremonial  condolences.  Here,  in  the  open,  among  the 
flowers,  all  was  peace.  He  need  not  even  realise  that 
his  dearest-dear  was  dead. 

But  he  had  overrated  his  emotional  strength,  or  rather 
he  had  underrated  it  as  he  always  did.  All  the  day 
long,  as  he  went  about  as  usual,  his  face  haggard,  his 


220  KING-ERRANT 

manner  courteous  and  gentle,  a  storm  was  brewing 
within,  and  when  sunset  came  again,  bringing  the  sad- 
ness of  a  dead  day  with  it,  the  tempest  burst. 

Maham,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping,  was  seated  in  the 
dusk  of  the  little  room  where  Ma'asuma  had  died,  with 
the  dead  woman's  babe  on  her  lap  when  she  looked  up 
to  see  a  tall,  swaying  figure  standing  at  the  door.  A 
helpless,  bewildered  figure  that  stretched  out  bewildered 
hands  to  her. 

"  Maham !  Maham !  "  it  cried,  "  save  me !  Save  me 
from  myself/' 

She  rose  instantly,  laid  the  sleeping  infant  on  the  bed, 
and  went  to  him. 

"  Thou  art  tired,''  she  said,  as  a  mother  might  have 
said  it.  "  Come  hither  and  rest  awhile,  my  lord.  Sleep 
will  bring  peace." 


CHAPTER  Vir 

I  am  the  dust  beneath  thy  feet,  my  sweet; 
Thou  art  the  cloud  that  sprinkleth  rain  amain. 
Lo!  as  green  tongues  of  grasses  spring  to  bring 
Their  thanks  for  moisture  given  to  root  and  fruit, 
So,  all  my  being  blossometh  and  saith 
"Dear  God  be  praised  for  Love  of  Thee  and  Me." 

Maham  had  her  work  cut  out  for  her.  But  she  was 
a  wise  woman  and  from  the  first  gauged  Babar's  vola- 
tile, kindly,  affectionate  nature  to  a  nicety. 

He  had  had  a  shock,  and  one  with  such  fine-strung 
nerves  as  his  required  time  for  recovery.  Therefore, 
with  easy  ability,  she  took  the  tiller  ropes  and  steered 
his  craft  and  hers  through  the  troubled  waters  which 
instantly  raged  about  him.  She  even,  rather  to  their 
resentment,  succeeded  in  pacifying  Babar's  step-grand- 
mother and  his  paternal  aunts  as  to  her  position  (which 
she  claimed  at  once)  as  Babar's  wife.  They  had  been 
betrothed  for  months,  she  told  them;  mdeed  for  long 
years  the  intent  to  marry  had  been  existent.  So  much 
so  that  they  had  her  late  husband  Gharib-Beg's  hearty 
assent  to  their  union.  She  had  come  from  Khorasan  at 
Ma'asuma  Begum's  earnest  wish,  and  the  marriage  had 
taken  place  when  it  did  —  this  she  left  hazy  —  entirely 
to  please  her  when  she  was  ill  and  ailing.  Doubtless 
the  dear  little  thing  had  had  a  prescience  of  her  own 
death.  Such  angels  of  Paradise  often  had.  She, 
Maham,  could  never  hope  to  hold  the  same  place  in  the 
King's  affection;  still  it  was  lucky  things  had  happened 
so,  or  the  Most-Clement  might  have  gone  out  of  his 
mind  with  grief,  deprived  as  he  was  in  the  wilds  of 
Adinapur    of    the    consolations    of    all    his  womenkind. 


222  KING-ERRANT 

And  the  gracious  ladies  knew  how  dependent  he  had 
always  been  on  them,  as  well  as  on  his  deceased  mother 
—  on  whom  be  God's  peace  —  and  his  unfortunate  sis- 
ter. Besides,  she  could  be  useful  in  bringing  up  the 
King's  little  daughter. 

**  If  thou  wilt  give  him  a  son  'twould  be  to  more  pur- 
pose," quoth  outspoken  Shah-Begum. 

"  God  helping  me,  I  will,  madam,"  came  the  cool  re- 
ply. 

"  She  is  well  spoken,"  admitted  the  old  lady  grudg- 
ingly, after  the  interview  was  over. 

"  And  of  the  inner  circle.  'Deed !  now  that  one  comes 
to  consider  it,"  wept  Babar's  Yenkam,  "  more  suited  for 
the  work  than  my  fairy,  who  was  ever  too  lightsome  for 
such  task.  And,  look  you!  there  be  no  question  of  evil 
eye  or  such  things.  She  loved  my  Ma'asuma  as  herself, 
and  was  ever  good  to  the  child.  It  is  doubtless  God's 
will." 

"Yea!  Yea!  God's  will,"  snivelled  fat,  silly  Princess 
Astonishing  Beauty;  but  little  Ak-Begum's  keen  eyes 
were  soft. 

"  There  is  more  in  it  than  mayhap  we  know,"  she  said 
softly.  "  And  she  hath  a  good,  clever  face.  So  God 
send  our  kind  Babar  peace." 

Good  wishes  were  well  enough  doubtless,  but  Maham 
felt  that  action  must  be  taken;  and  at  once.  My  lord 
the  King  must  not  be  allowed  to  lounge  at  home,  eating 
his  heart  out ;  and  to  this  purpose  she  sent  for  old  Kasim 
and  explained  her  views. 

"  Lady,"  he  replied,  "  I  would  rather,  in  faith,  have 
had  my  master  free  of  all  feminine  wiles.  The  last 
seven  months  have  passed  without  much  glory,  and  my 
sword  rusts  in  its  scabbard.  But  this  I  will  say,  for  a 
woman,  the  cupola  of  chastity  shows  much  sense.  The 
King  would  be  best  away  from  Kabul." 


KING-ERRANT  223 

"  And  from  me,"  added  Maham,  coolly.  "  So  look 
to  it,  Sir  General,  and  take  him  —  where  thou  canst." 

As  it  so  happened,  the  times  fell  in  with  her  de- 
sire. The  Timurid  family  was  at  its  lowest  ebb;  Babar 
himself,  being,  for  the  moment  the  only  member  of  it 
which  had  kept  his  kingdom  independent;  the  rest 
having  either  succumbed  utterly  to  the  great  Usbek- 
raider  or  become  mere  vassals  to  his  power.  Thus 
the  King's  position  was  weak,  even  if  he  had  been 
himself.  But  Maham's  [clear  eyes  appraised  her  hag- 
gard young  King  as  he  went  about  grave,  silent,  doing 
everything  by  an  effort.  That  was  not  the  stuff  for 
single  handed  combat  against  Fate.  Then  sorrow  set 
his  feet  firmer  than  ever  on  the  path  of  what  he  con- 
sidered right;  and  this  mood  was  not  one  in  which  to 
rely  on  those  Moghul  troops  of  his  who  were  ever 
ready  to  take  offence  at  strict  discipline.  No!  he 
must  be  induced  to  divert  attention  from  Kabul  by 
carrying  war  to  some  further  field.  The  further  the 
better,  so  long  as  it  gave  those  same  Moghul  troops 
opportunity   for  legitimate   raiding. 

Babar  himself  never  knew  how  much  one  woman's 
influence  had  to  do  with  his  resolution  to  march  on 
Hindustan ;  even  old  Kasim,  though  he  had  the  key,  did 
not  realise  how  Maham  managed  to  set  aside  his  pro- 
posal of  an  attempt  on  Badakhshan  in  favour  of  the 
larger,  more  imaginative  project;  but  it  was   done. 

So  one  day  Babar,  sad-faced  still,  but  with  a  certain 
spring  in  his  walk  came  to  say  good-bye  to  his  little 
daughter  and  to  the  woman  who  quietly,  unobtrusively, 
had  done  so  much  for  him. 

"  Yea ! "  she  said  smiling,  "  I  will  be  Queen  whilst 
thou  art  gone,  Babar,  never  fear.  Nor  Shah-Begum, 
nor  Mihr-Nigar  nor  any  other  woman  in  the  Palace 
shall  give  trouble,  this  time,  I  warrant  me.     And  the 


224  KING-ERRANT 

child  will  thrive!  Aye!  it  will  thrive.  So  there  is  no 
gnawing  thought  at  thy  heart,   remember — " 

She  paused  for  a  second  and  something  in  her  face 
made  Babar  say  hastily: 

"  Nor  in  thine,  I  pray,  kind  wife/' 

"  Nor  in  mine/'  she  echoed  with  a  brilliant  smile. 
"And  now,  ere  he  go,  I  have  something  for  my  lord 

—  a  remembrance  of  someone  he  loved  well  and  whom 
I  —  respected." 

She  put  her  hand  in  her  bosom  and  drew  out  thence 
all  warm  and  faintly  scented  a  small  crystal  bowl. 

Babar  gave  a  cry  of  delight.  "  The  Bowl !  The 
Bowl !  How  didst  find  it  ?  Did  he  give  it  thee  ?  Did  he 
really  give  it  me  ?  " 

Her  kind  eyes  smiled  on  him.  "  That  I  cannot  say ; 
and  this  is  not  the  Bowl,  but  perchance  a  likeness  of  it. 
'Twas  the  dear  dead  one,  my  lord,  who  told  me  the  tale 
when  thou  didst  tell  it  to  her.  So,  knowing  what  sort 
the  cup  must  be,  since  there  is  an  old  man  in  my  native 
village  who  still  can  make  them  after  a  fashion,  I  sent 
to  him  pressingly  for  one.  My  lord  will  remember  that 
'twas  in  this  village  graveyard  that  the  Crystal  Bowl 
was  found.  Doutbless  one  of  olden  time.  This  is  but 
a  copy  —  and  poor  doubtless,  since  the  old  craftsman 
can  scarce  see  —  but  it  may  serve  to  remind  my  lord 

—  of  many  things." 

"  And  much  kindness  — "  said  Babar  gravely,  and  as 
he  took  the  bowl  he  kissed  the  hand  that  held  it  out 
to  him. 

No!  it  was  not  the  Bowl.  It  was  but  a  dim  likeness 
of  it;  but  as  he  placed  it  in  his  bosom  he  felt  vaguely 
that  he  had  more  than  he  deserved. 

The  next  few  months  passed  swiftly.  Once  in  the 
saddle  and  out  of  Kabul,  Babar's  spirits  began  to  rise. 
But  he  soon  found  it  inadvisable  to  pursue  his  inten- 


KING-ERRANT  225 

tions  on  India.  The  very  idea  of  his  absenting  himself 
so  far,  roused  the  insolence  of  the  wild  border  clans. 
Here  was  their  opportunity,  whilst  the  cat  would  be 
away,  to  resort  to  their  favourite  plunder.  So  it  was 
mid-winter  before  it  was  possible  for  him  to  advance, 
and  by  that  time  the  complexion  of  affairs  had  changed. 

To  begin  with  the  Usbek-raider  had  retreated,  patch- 
ing up  a  sort  of  peace  hurriedly,  and  returning  west- 
ward over  more  important  business.  Then,  whether  by 
reason  of  Maham's  firm  hand  or  from  mere  ambition, 
old  grandmother  Shah-Begum  announced  her  intention 
of  leaving  Babar's  protection,  and  going  with  her 
grandson  to  snatch  at  the  sovereignty  of  Badakhshan, 
The  crown  had  been  hereditary  in  her  family,  she  de- 
clared, for  over  3,000  years  and  though  as  woman  she 
could  not  claim  it,  she  knew  her  grandson  would  not 
be  rejected. 

This  intention,  involving  as  it  did  a  breaking  up  of 
conventional  family  life,  brought  back  Babar  in  protest. 
The  old  lady  had  never  been  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
him,  she  had  once  almost  succeeded  in  her  intrigues 
against  him,  but  he  had  always  treated  her  generously; 
and  then,  worse  than  her  defection,  was  that  of  his  own 
mother*s   sister  who  insisted  on  accompanying  her. 

It  was  intolerable !  Babar  went  straight  to  his  grand- 
mother and  argued  with  her ;  coming  back  irritated  and 
annoyed  by  failure  to  make  any  impression  on  the  old 
lady's  obstinacy,  to  his  own  palace,  where,  without  giv- 
ing notice,  he  made  his  way  alone  to  Maham's  apart- 
ments. 

As  he  entered  her  room  he  could  see  her  re- 
clining amongst  cushions  in  the  [cupola'd  balcony,  his 
little  sleeping  daughter  in  her  lap.  She  was  crooning 
to  it  the  lullaby  which  Turkhoman  women  sing  sleepily 
during  a  night  march.     Her  pose  was  exquisite;  there 


226  KING-ERRANT 

was  a  look  of  almost  motherhood  in  her  face ;  he  paused 
to  listen  as  she  sang: — 

"  Sleep,  croodie  !     Talk  with  God ! 
Know  not  the  path  Tve  trod. 
Dad  knows  not !     Why  shouldst  thou ! 
Sleep,  childie !     Sleep  just  now. 
Don't  fear!     I  keep  awake. 
Heigh  ho !     My  bones  do  ache. 
Heigh  ho !     My  horse  does  pull. 
Can't  it  see  river's  full ! 
No  pebbles  in  that  bed. 
Mine  holds  an  hundred. 
Dreams!  Dreams!  Who  lies  dead? 
Someone  in  the  river's  bed. 
Praise  God!     He  rests  his  head. 
Hush !  Hush !     I  hear  thee,  sweet. 
Mums  arms  around  thee  meet. 
Praise  God!     The  night's  nigh  past;* 
Darling  sleeps  at  last !  at  last ! " 

The  curious  drowsiness  of  the  rhythm  held  him 
almost  silent  for  a  while,  so  did  a  great  surge  of  admira- 
tion for  this  self -restrained,  kindly,  capable  woman  who 
had  taken  her  full  position  as  his  wife  so  firmly,  with- 
out any  feminine  flutterings  or  sentimentalities.  Truly 
that  sort  of  thing  was  what  he,  with  his  volatile  emo- 
tionality, needed  to  make  him  not  only  successful,  but 
persistent. 

"  Maham,"  he  said  almost  timorously,  "  I  have 
come  back  to  thee  —  and  the  child." 

She  gave  a  little  cry,  started  to  rise,  then  pointed  to 
little  Ma'asuma.  "  I  should  waken  her !  "  she  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "but  welcome,  thrice  welcome  is  my  lord 
—  to  me  and  to  the  child." 

Her  voice  lingered  over  the  words;  her  smile  had  a 
certain  gravity  in  it. 


KING-ERRANT  227 

"  But  thou,"  he  said  anxiously.  *'  Hast  not  been  well, 
wife?  Thy  face  shows  ill  —  why  didst  not  write  to 
me?" 

''  Because  'twas  not  worth  while/'  she  replied.  "  And 
I  am  most  better.  The  spring  comes  and  with  it  health. 
And  I  have  had  anxiety  over  thy  grandmother.  What 
said  she?" 

The  deft  turn  succeeded.  Babar  gave  vent  to  his  dis- 
satisfaction in  no  measured  terms.  *'  See  you,"  he  said, 
"  Have  I  ever  failed  in  my  duty  or  service  ?  When  my 
mother  and  I  had  not  even  a  single  village  nor  a  few 
jewels,  I  treated  all  my  relations,  male  or  female,  as 
members  of  my  family.  I  have  made  no  difference  be- 
tween  my  maternal  and  my  paternal  connections.  I  say 
not  this  to  appraise  myself.  I  simply  follow  the  scrupu- 
lous truth  as  everyone  knows.  And  now,  even  my 
mother's  sister  desires  to  leave  me!  I  am  her  nearest 
relation.  It  would  be  better,  and  more  becoming  for 
her  to  remain  with  me." 

Maham's  face  showed  whimsical  smiles.  "  Not,  my 
lord,  unwillingly.  God's  earth  holds  not  a  more  deadly 
poison  to  happiness  than  a  discontented  woman.  So 
let  them  go;  my  lord  has  plenty  of  paternal  aunts." 

There  was  a  certain  patience  in  her  tone !  But  Babar, 
still  protesting,  yielded;  and  set  himself  solemnly  to 
settle  the  judicial  as  well  as  the  executive  system  of  his 
kingdom.  It  was  about  this  time  that  he  wrote  his 
famous  Essay-on- Jurisprudence  which  for  many  long 
years  was  to  be  a  work  of  reference. 

His  enquiries  took  him  out  often  into  the  out  districts 
which,  now  that  spring  was  advancing  were  excessively 
pleasant,  abounding  in  tulips  and  indeed  in  all  plants  of 
every  description.  He  began  again  to  write  poetry; 
pretty  things  still  touched  by  profound,  if  somewhat 
scholastic,  melancholy  such  as  this — 


228  KING-ERRANT 

**  My  heart's  a  rose  full  flaming, 
Its  petals  opened  wide, 
To  give  her  without  shaming 
Myself  and  all  beside. 

Ah  me !  in  vain  I  lavished 
My  love  on  her  dear  heart, 
An  envious  thorn  has  ravished 
Her  hand  with  deadly  smart. 

Her  life-blood  is  a-falling 

To  dim  my  petals  o'er. 

Oh,  Springtime!  cease  thy  calling, 

This  rose  will  bloom  no  more." 


He  used  to  send  them  to  Maham,  who  used  to  reply 
in  her  beautiful  nastdlik  hand  that  was  always  a  joy  to 
Babar's  simple  delight  in  anything  and  everything  ar- 
tistic. And  he  wrote,  also,  and  told  her  of  the  thirty-five 
different  kinds  of  tulips  he  had  gathered,  and  of  the  in- 
scriptions he  caused  to  be  cut  on  springs  and  rocks. 
And  of  a  certainty  when  he  visited,  as  he  did,  the  Gar- 
den-of-Fidelity  at  Adinapur,  he  must  have  had  much  to 
tell  her  of  a  small  flowerful  grave  there,  where  his  sad 
heart  was  laid. 

It  was  all  very  pathetic;  sweetly  pathetic.  A  noble 
young  King,  doing  his  duty  bravely,  though  glad  life 
was  over  for  him  forever. 

Even  the  crystal  cup  which  he  carried  in  his  bosom, 
and  from  which  he  drank  ever  the  water  of  the  cool 
mountain  springs,  brought  him  only  modified  comfort. 
Perhaps,  because,  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  himself,  he 
would  not  allow  it  to  bring  more. 

And  then  suddenly  the  whole  wide  world  changed  for 
him. 

"  Maham !     My   son !  —  my    son !  "   was   all   that   he 


KING-ERRANT  229 

could  say  when  urgent  summons  brought  him  to  a  smil- 
ing mother  and  a  new-born  infant. 

"  He  is  like  thee,"  she  said,  a  tremor  in  her  calm 
voice. 

"  God  forbid !  "  interrupted  the  father  hastily.  *'  God 
send  he  be  like  thee  —  the  best  woman  in  the  world 
—  the  best  —  the  very  best !  " 

Never  were  such  rejoicings.  The  paternal  aunts,  who 
of  late  months  had  been  let  into  the  secret,  were  almost 
crazy  with  delight.  And  wherefore  not?  When  a  King 
has  lived  to  be  six-and-twenty  without  a  son;  when 
despite  three  marriages  only  two  children  have  been 
borne  to  him,  miserable  little  daughters,  one  dead,  one 
but  a  few  months  old,  it  is  time  to  be  festive  over  a 
proper  birth.  And  was  there  ever  such  a  baby?  So 
tall,  so  strong,  so  handsome  and  so  altogether  satisfac- 
tory. No  wonder  his  father,  who  ever  had  a  pretty  wit, 
called  him  Humayon.  That  might  portend  the  phoenix, 
the  bird  of  good  omen,  besides  half-a-dozen  other  side 
meanings,  each  charming  in  its  way. 

But  Babar,  leaning  over  the  happy  mother  said  softly, 
"  He  shall  be  my  protection  in  the  future.  Lo !  Maham ! 
I  have  put  myself  outside  myself  as  they  say  in  the 
child-stories  of  our  youth.  Who  was't  who  put  his  life 
safe  in  a  gold  box?  Well!  my  life  is  hid  in  my  son's. 
So  there,  my  wife,  have  a  care  of  us  both  —  for,  verily 
in  some  ways,  Maham,  I  need  looking  after  like  an 
infant." 

The  feast  of  nativity  was  a  very  splendid  feast. 
Everyone  who  was  Big,  and  everyone  who  was  Not, 
brought  their  offerings.  Bags  on  bags  of  silver  money 
were  piled  up,  until  everyone  was  forced  to  confess  that 
never  before  had  they  seen  so  much  white  money  in  one 
place. 

And  the  entertainments!     There  were  fireworks  and 


230  KING-ERRANT 

marionettes  and  conjuring  tricks.  In  fact  a  perfect  fair 
for  a  whole  week  in  the  Great  Four-square-Garden  on 
the  hill. 

But  the  greatest  amusement  of  all  was  one  to  which 
the  Palace  Ladies  invited  a  select  audience. 

It  was  organised  by  the  Fair  Princess  who  had  a 
genius  that  way,  and  its  piece  de  resistance  was  a  huge 
roc-egg  brought  in  by  fairies,  which,  cracking  in  most 
realistic  fashion,  disclosed  the  most  magnificent  phoenix 
that  ever  was  seen,  with  feathers  of  every  hue  and 
plumes  galore  (it  had,  of  course,  a  gold  crown  on  its 
head)  which  monstrous  bird  being  removed,  like  a  tea 
cosy,  appeared  no  less  a  personage  than 

*'  The  Heir  Apparent " 
"  Humayon." 

Endless  was  the  laughter,  the  tears,  the  embracings,  the 
gratulations. 

But  that  evening  as  Maham  and  Babar  sat  hand  in 
hand,  looking  at  the  sleeping  infant,  its  mother  cried 
suddenly  — 

"  'Tis  Ma'asuma's  child  also,  thou  must  remember, 
husband.     'Twas  for  her  sake  I  married  thee." 

"  Not  for  mine  own,  one  little  bit,  Maham  ?  "  he  quer- 
ied a  trifle  sadly.  "  Well !  if  that  be  so,  I  must  be  lover 
instead  of  husband  for  a  time." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  Like  a  wide-spreading  tree  whose  roots  en-thread 
Earth's  bosom,  gaining  Life  from  out  a  grave, 
So  stood  he  stalwart  while  each  weary  head 
Sought  for  the  shelter  that  his  courage  gave." 

"  Look  you !  what  a  young  man  sees  in  a  mirror,  an 
old  one  can  see  in  a  burnt  brick,"  quoth  old  Kasim 
crossly  to  Shiram-Taghai.  "Did  I  not  tell  the  Most- 
Clement  that  benevolence  such  as  his,  is  doubtless  fit 
for  Paradise  where  man  shall  have  shed  his  sins;  but 
'tis  in  this  world,  pure  incentive  to  wickedness.  To 
leave  Prince  Abdul-Risak  in  Kabul  where,  seeing  he  is 
the  late  King's  only  son,  he  hath  some  right  to  claim 
power,  was  foolish;  not  to  believe  when  old  servants  as 
you  and  I,  Shiram,  tell  him  intrigue  is  going  on,  is  well 
nigh  criminal.  Yet  God  knows  it  all  comes  from  kind- 
ness of  heart!  In  truth,  old  friend,  to  be  king  one 
should  be  as  Timur,  the  Earth  Trembler,  who  never 
spared  man,  woman  or  child  who  stood  in  his  way." 

"  Aye,"  assented  Shirim-Beg  whose  beard  by  this 
time,  after  long  years  of  faithful  service,  required  a 
purple  dye  to  pass  muster.  "  And  yet,  to  my  mind,  the 
King  is  most  hard  on  the  Moghul  soldiery.  What 
means  life  to  a  Moghul  without  rapine  and  plunder? 
Bread  without  salt,  friend!  Bread  without  salt!  Yet 
the  Most-Clement  is  so  inclement  that  thou  hadst  trouble 
to  save  the  lives  of  those  three  last  week." 

Kasim  gloomed.  "Aye!  and  I  know  not  now  if  I 
were  not  wrong,  since  those  same  are  the  head  and 
front  of  this  present  offending  of  which — God  save  his 
innocence — ^the  King  takes  no  heed,  having  it  forsooth, 

231 


232  K  I  N  G  -  E  R  R  A  N  T 

that  my  surmisings  art  not  entitled  to  credit!  Look 
you!  he  is  so  set  on  making  his  men  wheel  in  step  and 
to  time,  that  he  hath  forgotten  how  quick  honest  re- 
bellion can  step  when  it  chooses." 

It  was  true.  Babar,  profoundly  happy  in  the  birth 
of  his  son,  profoundly  absorbed  in  the  new  title  of 
Emperor  which  he  had,  in  consequence,  bestowed  upon 
himself,  was  impervious  to  suspicion,  and  busy  expend- 
ing his  exuberant  vitality  in  marshalling  and  manoeu- 
vering  his  troops.  He  was  out  all  day  in  camp;  thus, 
at  once,  being  more  ignorant  than  usual  of  what  was 
happening  in  the  city,  and  having  less  time  to  listen  to 
cautions;  the  latter  being,  in  truth,  the  last  words  suit- 
able to  his  feelings.  He  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him, 
see  a  single  cloud  ahead,  and  being  absolutely  full  of 
good  intentions  towards  his  world,  refused  to  believe 
that  the  world  could  have  any  ill  intentions  towards  him. 

But  his  eyes  were  opened  one  night,  and  that  rudely. 

He  took  his  evening  meal  as  a  rule  in  the  Four-cor- 
ner Garden  on  his  way  back  to  sleep  in  the  Secluded- 
Palace.  It  was  a  charming  place ;  the  summer  house  all 
lit  with  coloured  lamps,  hung  with  beautiful  draperies; 
and  there  were  ever  musicians,  singers  and  dancers 
ready  to  amuse  the  King,  who  lingered  late  at  times, 
especially  on  moonlit  nights  when  the  garden  showed 
entrancingly  beautiful. 

But  it  was  moonless  and  fairly  early,  when  two 
friends  arrived  from  the  city  in  hot  haste,  full  of  the 
discovery  of  a  plot  to  seize  and  assassinate  His  Imperial 
Majesty  that  very  night. 

Babar  downright  refused  to  believe  it.  Even  treach- 
erous Moghuls,  he  said,  must  have  some  reason  for  rebel- 
lion ;  and  what  had  he  done  to  them  ?  —  Nothing !  Nor 
to  anyone  else.  There  might  be  disaffection.  In  what 
kingdom  was  it  not  to  be  found?     But  for  wide-spread 


KING-ERRANT  233 

disloyalty?  —  No!  it  was  frankly  impossible.  So  he  set 
warning  aside. 

Nevertheless  the  party  broke  up  early  and  started 
through  the  darkness  for  the  city.  The  running  Ian-- 
terns  ahead  threw  light  only  on  the  forward  path,  and 
Babar  was  engrossed  in  solving  a  question  of  drill;  so 
it  was  not  till  he  reached  the  Iron  Gate  that  he  realised 
he  was  alone,  save  for  the  three  or  four  household 
slaves  who  ran  beside  his  horse.  In  the  darkness  every 
one  of  his  escort  had  disappeared ! 

In  a  second  he  saw  that  something  was,  indeed,  amiss. 
But  in  the  same  second  he  saw  what  had  to  be  done. 
Maham  and  her  son  must  be  reached  and  placed  in  safety. 
That  accomplished  he  would  have  time  to  consider. 

But  as,  with  a  rapid  order  to  the  slaves,  he  turned 
sharp  down  a  more  secluded  alley,  a  man  running  full 
tilt,  brought  up  suddenly  at  the  sight  of  him.  It  was 
an  old  friend,  one  Mahomed-Ali. 

"  Thank  God !  I  have  you.  Sire,"  cried  the  runner 
breathlessly.  "  Go  back !  Go  back !  The  Moghuls  are 
in  arms,  the  traitor  Abdul-Risak  at  their  head  —  I  was 
in  the  market  place  a  minute  syne  and  they  await  the 
Most-Clement  there.     Go  back !     Go  back !  " 

Babar  dug  his  spurs  to  his  horse's  flank.  "  Nay !  I 
go  on,"  he  said  recklessly. 

But  Mahomed-Ali  hung  to  the  bridle.  ''  Most- 
Clement!  listen.  They  will  await  thee  there  till  mid- 
night. If  the  King  does  not  come  till  then  what  signi- 
fies it?  Naught;  since  the  Most-High  is  given  to  gar- 
dens and  is  often  late.  So  they  are  there  —  safe ! 
Now  'tis  not  yet  ten  of  the  chime.  If,  therefore,  the 
King  will  be  wise,  turn  his  horse,  and  ride  out  to  the 
Camp-of-the- Veterans  beyond  the  Hill  Garden,  I  and 
my  following  —  if  the  Most-Noble  will  send  a  token 
to  the  Gracious-Lady  —  will  bring  her  safe  thither  be- 


234  KING-ERRANT 

fore  the  carrion  have  wind  of  anything.  Sire!  'tis  the 
better  way !  To  go  on  is  certain  death  —  for  all  —  The 
Moghuls.     .     .     ." 

"  God  curse  them ! ''  muttered  Babar.  But  he  was 
no  fool  to  let  his  own  wild  anger  needlessly  endanger 
those  two  precious  lives.  Therefore  his  resolution  was 
taken  at  once,  and  he  fumbled  for  his  signet  ring — 

No!  not  that  —  it  might  be  used  to  ill  purpose.  The 
Crystal  Bowl  was  better  —  none  would  send  that  but 
he,  and  so  she  would  be  the  readier  to  act  upon  it. 

"  Aye  "  he  said  slowly.  "  But  mark  you !  I  turn  but 
to  the  Ditch  by  the  Khorasan  gate.  There  will  I  wait. 
Take  this  to  the  Queen  and  say  I  pray  her  come  —  in 
half-an-hour  mind,  in  half-an-hour !  If  thou  s:omest 
not  by  then — " 

His  face  said  the  rest  and  augured  ill  for  failure, 
as,  gathering  the  few  slaves  together  lest  any  might 
escape  and  blab,  he  drove  them  and  the  torch  bearers 
before  him  towards  the  further  gate.  With  time  for 
thought  he  reviewed  the  position  and  was  satisfied  at 
his  action.  At  the  worst,  it  meant  but  a  delay  of  half- 
an-hour  when  time  was  literally  no  object;  since  it  was 
his  appearance  which  would  start  the  traitorous  scheme. 
He  set  his  lip  and  his  hand  clenched  on  his  sword  at 
the  very  thought.  Again,  his  retreat  amongst  tried  loy- 
alists might  save  the  situation  altogether;  for  he  would 
be  ready  for  instant  retaliation  if  needs  be.  If  not,  no 
harm  was  done.  He  had  simply  spent  the  night  amongst 
his  oldest  friends,  the  Audi j an  troopers. 

Yet,  as  he  stood  waiting  in  the  darkness  of  the  ditch 
at  the  Khorasan  gate,  his  heart  beat  in  his  ears.  He 
could  hear  nothing.  And  time  passed  —  It  must  be 
nigh  on  the  half  hour!  Time  to  tighten  sword-belts 
.  .  .  Hark!  that  was  a  jingle  —  the  jingle  of  a  swift 
borne  doolie!     .     .     , 


KING-ERRANT  235 

"Maham?'' 

"  My  lord,  I  am  here,"  came  the  answer  and  Babar 
shook  his  fist  at  the  darkling  city.  All  was  quiet  nigh 
at  hand,  but  from  the  distant  market  place  came  sounds 
of  rough  merriment. 

"  Till  to-morrow,  friends ! "  he  muttered,  then  paced 
his  horse  beside  the  doolie  with  a  whispered  word  or 
two  of  encouragement. 

Now  that  imminent  danger  was  over  anger,  sheer, 
almost  reckless  anger  took  the  place  of  anxiety. 

"To-morrow!"  he  whispered  to  himself  again; 
"  To-morrow ! " 

But  that  to-morrow  to  which  he  had  appealed  so  con- 
fidently brought  bitter  disappointment. 

Dawn  showed  him  an  almost  empty  camp.  Out  of  all 
his  soldiers  a  bare  five  hundred  remained  with  him. 
The  rest,  with  most  of  the  Kabul  courtiers  had  slipped 
off  to  the  city  during  the  night  on  pretence  of  looking 
after  their  families,  or  saving  their  property  from  the 
Moghul  plunderers.  Disloyalty  was  widespread  in- 
deed! 

Kasim-Beg,  of  course,  was  at  his  beloved  young  mas- 
ter's side,  and  so  was  Shiram-Taghai  and  half-a-score 
other  trusty  friends,  all  of  the  old  school.  They  waited 
the  livelong  day  for  the  old  order  to  up  saddle  and 
away;  since  what  could  five  hundred  swords,  be  they 
ever  so  nimble,  do  against  a  city  full  of  soldiers?  But 
the  order  never  came.  It  was  close  on  sunset  when 
Kasim,  impatient  at  the  delay,  suggested  that  it  was 
time  to  move. 

"  I  go  not,"  replied  Babar  coolly ;  "  See  you,  old 
friend,  never  again  do  I  seek  shelter  like  a  rat  in  its 
hole  till  I  have  no  other  chance.     I  fight  in  the  open." 

Old  Kasim's  jaw  dropped.  "My  liege!"  he  ex- 
claimed.    "When    fortune    was    against    the    Chagatai 


236  KING-ERRANT 

in  one  place,  he  ever  sought  her  favour  in  another." 

"And  found  it  not,  most  times,"  put  in  Babar  with  a 
grim  smile.  "  I  have  had  too  much  of  fighting  and 
running  away.  I  have  been  at  it  my  life  long.  Now  let 
us  see  how  it  does  to  fight  and  stick  to  it  —  to  the 
death." 

"  To  the  death  by  all  means,  sire,"  said  old  Kasim 
with  aflFectionate  admiration,  "but  'tis  madness  all  the 
same." 

If  it  were  so,  there  was  distinct  method  in  it.  Babar 
threw  up  strange  earthworks  round  his  camp  and  dis- 
posed pickets  in  quaintly  modern  fashion  on  the  points 
of  vantage  in  the  hills.  This  done  he  sat  down  calmly 
and  awaited  events,  much  to  the  discomfiture  of  those 
within  the  city.  They  were  not  besieged,  of  course,  but 
there  was  an  enemy  to  be  reckoned  with  beyond  the 
gates  where  an  enemy  should  not  be.  Being  hopelessly 
in  a  minority,  he  ought  to  have  run  away. 

"  Lo ! "  said  one  soldier  to  another  doubtfully,  als, 
hand  over  his  eyes,  eaves-wise,  he  looked  out  keenly 
from  the  watch  towers,  "  I  dare  swear  that  is  the  King 
going  his  rounds.  How  I  mind  me  of  his  smile  as  he 
passed  the  meanest." 

"  Aye ! "  would  come  the  assent,  "  but  none  were 
mean  in  his  army.  We  all  felt  brave  men.  At  least  so 
'twas  with  me.  I  could  have  swaggered  it  with 
Rustam." 

And  both  pair  of  eyes  would  hold  a  vague  regret.  A 
regret  that  deepened  as  day  after  day  skirmishes  that 
were  almost  battles,  resulted  invariably  in  a  retreat  back 
to  the  walls  of  Kabul  for  the  night. 

For  Babar's  five  hundred  were  ready  to  fight  all  the 
twenty-four  hours,  while  the  insurgent  twelve  thousand 
preferred  their  beds. 

And  the  next  dawn  rose  calm  over  that  orderly  en- 


KING-ERRANT  237 

campment,  which  it  was  no  use  trying  to  rush  because 
of  its  cunning  defences.  Then  Babar's  cavalry  had 
learnt  to  charge  without  an  inch  of  spare  room  between 
stirrup  and  stirrup,  so  that  there  was  no  hope  of  passage 
or  escape  between  that  close-linked,  supple,  chain  of 
lance  and  sword. 

Altogether  it  was  disconcerting.  Then  no  one  had  a 
moment's  peace.  To  show  your  head  beyond  the  gates 
was  to  bring  down  on  you  the  King  in  person,  heading 
a  reckless  band  of  picked  swordsmen. 

"  Kasim-Beg  is  the  best  fencer  in  Asia,"  murmured 
a  trooper  with  a  slash  on  head  and  arm ;  "  'tis  small 
wonder  I  got  this  from  him.  And  his  teaching  hath 
made  even  the  rank  and  file  better  at  swordsplay  than 
our  leaders  —  curse  them  —  who  sit  at  cards  and 
drink,  while  we — "    The  rest  was  sullen  silence. 

"  Yea !  "  said  another,  with  a  leg  bandaged.  "  And 
I  got  this  from  a  mere  back  blow  of  the  Most-Clem- 
ent's. See  you,  he  hath  youth  on  his  side,  as  well  as  all 
old  Kasim's  art.  I  saw  him,  as  I  fell,  cleave  a  Moghul 
to  the  very  chin." 

So  round  the  watch  fires  at  night  it  became  the  fash- 
ion to  applaud  the  prowess  of  the  foe.  With  this  result 
that  in  the  morning,  more  than  one  place  was  vacant  on 
the  ramparts;  the  holder  of  it  had  slipped  away  in  the 
night  to  join  Babar's  forces. 

As  time  went  on,  the  latter  grew  more  and  more  ad- 
venturous. His  military  skill,  his  personal  strength,  his 
courage,  his  invincible  spirit,  brought  mingled  admira- 
tion and  dread  to  his  enemies. 

"  Lo !  he  is  a  true  Shaitan/'  admitted  one  of  the  chief 
rebels.  "  Didst  hear  that  when  he  was  at  the  Kharwa 
Fort  he  amused  himself  by  leaping  from  battlement  to 
battlement  —  and  there  is  sheer  fall  of  a  thousand  feet 
to  the  river  below." 


238  KING-ERRANT 

"  Aye !  "  assented  another  gloomily.  "  And  Shirbash 
saith  he  hath  seen  him  do  it  with  a  trooper  under  each 
arm." 

So  ran  the  stories,  the  one  outdoing  the  other. 

At  last,  one  day,  just  before  the  opposing  forces 
began  the  clash  of  arms,  the  armies  stood  thrilling, 
aghast,  expectant,  as  a  tall  young  figure  rode  out  alone, 
and  in  a  voice  that  echoed  and  re-echoed,  challenged 
Abdul-Risak,  the  usurper,  to  single  combat. 

The  challenge  was  refused. 

"  Then  send  your  best  man,"  cried  Babar,  "  and  may 
God  show  the  right." 

There  was  a  pause;  and  then  from  out  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  insurgents  rode  one  Ali-Beg,  and  a  chorus 
of  approval  went  up  on  both  sides. 

The  opponents  were  well  matched.  Both  young,  both 
in  the  very  pink  of  training. 

"Art  ready,  friend?"  came  Babar 's  clear  joyous 
voice,  and  with  a  dash  they  were  at  each  other. 

"  Now  God  send  he  remembers  the  trick  of  wrist," 
said  Kasim-Beg  under  his  breath,  "  for  Ali-Beg  hath 
it  to  perfection.    He  was  my  best  pupil  at  Samarkand." 

But  Babar  remembered  it.  How,  he  felt,  could  he 
forget  anything  with  so  much  for  which  to  fight?  His 
eyes  blazed,  not  with  anger  —  what  cared  he  for  the 
actual  enemy?  —  he  was  but  the  dummy  of  possible 
defeat  —  but  with  calm  will.  He  meant  to  disarm  this 
fellow  —  not  to  hurt  him. 

The  horses  reeled  against  each  other,  the  sword  arms 
were  interlocked,  for  Babar,  at  close  quarters,  would 
not  let  his  antagonist  break  loose. 

God  and  his  prophets!  they  would  be  down!  Nor 
horse  nor  man  could  stand  that  boring  pressure,  that 
invincible  strength.  Wrist  against  wrist;  and  beneath 
them  struggling  legs  and  tails  and  fear-snorting  crests! 


KING-ERRANT  239 

There!  over!  —  A  confused  heap  upon  the  ground, 
but  Babar  uppermost  with  two  swords  in  his  hand. 

A  shout  of  triumph  rose  from  the  five  hundred.  But 
as  the  discomfited  champion  rode  back  without  his 
sword,  another  rode  forward  to  take  his  place. 

This  was  not  in  the  bond;  still  Babar,  checking  his 
laboured  breaths  to  more  even  rhythm,  threw  away  the 
second  sword  and  sprang  to  his  horse,  which  had  risen 
unhurt  but  dazed. 

"  Come  on,  friend !  "  he  shouted ;     'T  am  ready !  '* 

This  was  a  very  different  sort  of  adversary.  A  lean, 
ewe-necked  horse,  a  nimble,  dapper,  little  swordsman 
with  a  blade  like  a  razor,  who  buzzed  and  wheeled,  and 
settled  and  fled  again  like  a  hungry  mosquito. 

Babar  with  his  half-dazed  horse  was  at  a  disadvantage 
for  a  time  and  the  razor-like  edge  caught  him  on  the 
little  finger  once.  But  only  once.  The  next  instant  in 
one  furious  charge,  a  back-hander  with  the  flat  of  the 
sword  had  sent  the  King's  antagonist  spinning  from  his 
saddle  like  a  tee-totum. 

So  it  was  with  five  champions,  one  after  the  other. 

Babar  more  and  more  weary,  yet  more  and  more  tri- 
umphant in  fierce  vitality  with  every  victory,  unhorsed, 
disarmed,  or  routed  every  one  of  them.  Raising  a  laugh, 
indeed,  in  his  own  favour  when  Yakub-Beg,  last  but 
one,  escaped  by  hard  riding  from  the  rain  of  pitiless 
blows  which  fell  instead  on  his  horse's  rump,  urging 
it  to  greater  speed. 

Only  once  did  sheer  merciless  anger  leap  to  Babar's 
eyes,  and  that  was  when  Nazir,  the  Usbek,  letting  go  his 
horse's  bridle  during  a  close-locked  tussle  of  sword 
arms,  drew  a  dagger  with  his  left  hand  and  would  have 
plunged  it  in  his  adversary's  heart. 

Then,  with  one  wild  cry  of  rage,  Babar's  hand  left 
his  sword,  clipped  his  adversary  round  the  middle,  lit- 


240  KING-ERRANT 

erally  tore  him  from  his  horse  and  flung  him  head 
downwards  on  the  ground,  where  he  lay  unconscious, 
the  dagger  still  in  his  hand,  the  blood  oozing  from  his 
nose  and  ears. 

"  Take  the  carrion  away/'  shouted  the  young  cham- 
pion, breathless,  "  and  come  on,  if  there  be  any  more." 

But  there  were  none  ready  for  personal  combat;  so 
the  battle  began. 

It  was  one  of  Babar's  best  battles  —  at  least  in  his 
own  opinion.  And  it  was  the  prelude  to  many  another, 
in  every  one  of  which  Babar  drove  home  his  lesson  of 
sheer  courage.  Finally  Abdul-Risak  fell  into  his  hands, 
and  from  that  moment  there  was  peace;  since  folk 
could  withstand  the  King's  prowess,  but  they  were  help- 
less beneath  his  magnanimity. 

To  be  forgiven,  not  grudgingly  or  of  necessity,  but 
with  open-hearted  friendliness,  was  disarmament  pure 
and  simple ;  for  all  but  Moghuls.  And  the  Horde  in  this 
instance,  disgusted  at  defeat,  took  abrupt  French  leave. 
Abdul-Risak  also,  ever  a  weakling,  had  the  gratitude 
and  good  taste  to  die  comfortably  and  conventionally 
ere  long,  so  Kabul  was  left  at  peace. 

Such  peace  as  Babar's  life  had  never  known  before. 
He  was  in  the  plenitude  of  his  manhood,  his  strength, 
and,  even  after  all  these  years,  the  imagination  warms 
to  the  picture  of  his  glad  content.  A  trifle  flamboyant, 
perhaps,  he  may  have  been  in  his  consciousness  of  vir- 
tue, in  his  very  successes.  But  nothing  came  amiss  to 
his  happy  nature.  The  plants  he  planted  throve,  the 
flowers  he  loved  blossomed,  he  was  as  keen  over  repair- 
ing a  ruined  aqueduct  as  he  had  been  over  taking  a  fort. 
He  knew  the  name  of  every  bird  and  beast  in  his  king- 
dom; he  learnt  their  habits,  when  and  where  they  are 
to  be  caught.  He  tells  of  the  strange  migration  of 
fishes,  and   with   keen   appreciation   of  the  pathos  and 


KING-ERRANT  241 

poetry  hidden  in  the  tale,  how  the  flights  of  summer 
birds  are  driven  in  stormy  weather  against  the  chill 
glaciers  of  the  Hindu-Kush  Mountains  and  perish  in 
their  thousands.  Then  he  interests  himself  in  his  peo- 
ple. Knows  the  race  of  which  they  come,  the  language 
they  speak,  and  the  superstitions  in  which  they  believe. 
And  he  is  stern  over  some  of  these.  There  is  a  cele- 
brated rocking  tomb  much  frequented  by  pilgrims  of 
which  he  discovers  the  trick  and  visits  his  hot  wrath  on 
the  manipulators,  daring  them  to  repeat  the  imposture; 
for  deceit  is  the  one  thing  he  cannot  forgive. 

So  during  the  next  three  years,  not  only  peace,  but 
happiness  reigned  at  Kabul.  Humayon  grew  and  flour- 
ished. A  daughter  and  then  a  son  were  born,  and 
Maham  remained  the  anchor  to  which  Babar's  versatile, 
volatile,  affectionate  nature  was  moored.  A  woman  of 
education,  of  natural  talent,  she  could  enter  into  that 
side  of  his  life  from  which  the  majority  of  his  compan- 
ions were  shut  out;  and  between  the  two  there  was  al- 
ways the  inward  and  spiritual  tie  of  which  the  Crystal 
Bowl  was  the  outward  and  visible  manifestation. 

There  was  another  soul,  however,  which  touched 
Babar  in  a  lower  plane.  Sultan  Said  Khan,  his  cousin, 
the  son  of  the  dead  and  dispossessed  younger  Khan  of 
Outer  Moghulistan,  sought  refuge  at  Kabul,  and  there 
sprung  up  between  the  two  young  men  perfect  love, 
accord,  and  trust. 

*'  The  two-and-a-half  years  I  spent  as  exile  in  Kabul," 
writes  this  same  Said  Khan,  "  were  the  freest  from  care 
or  sorrow  of  any  I  have  experienced,  or  am  likely  to 
experience.  I  lived  on  friendly  terms  with  all,  welcomed 
by  all.  I  never  had  a  headache  (except  from  the  effects 
of  wine)  and  never  felt  sad  (except  on  the  account  of 
the  ringlets  of  some  beloved  one)." 

But  Babar  himself  still  abstained   from  wine,  or  at 


242  KING-ERRANT 

any  rate  from  intoxication.  Love  had  stepped  in  at  Herat 
to  keep  him  from  yielding  to  the  first  of  Said  Khan's 
temptations,  and  the  other  form  of  amusement  was  never 
to  his  liking. 

Then  there  was  another  refugee  who  forty  years 
afterwards  sets  down  his  impressions  of  Kabul  and  its 
King.  This  was  Haidar,  yet  another  cousin,  ten-year- 
old-orphan,  whose  father  had  been  that  Doghlat-com- 
moner  rebel  of  two  years  back. 

What  matter?  His  mother  had  been  a  maternal  aunt. 
That  was  enough  for  Babar.  Besides  the  poor  child 
had  no  other  protector. 

His  welcome  must  have  made  a  vivid  impression  on 
Haidar,  for,  as  one  reads,  the  scene  rises  before  one. 
The  timid  child  wrapped  in  the  one  old  shawl  which 
the  forlorn  party  of  refugees  possessed,  attempting  to 
kneel  at  the  feet  of  that  glorious  figure  with  life  or 
death  in  its  hands.  The  merry  laugh,  the  swift  stoop 
to  catch  up  the  child  and  hold  it  close  with  comforting 
words.  Then  afterwards,  the  elegant  mansion,  its  rooms 
all  spread  with  many  coloured  carpets  and  soft  cush- 
ions, with  everything  in  the  way  of  furniture,  food, 
clothing,  servants,  and  slaves,  so  fully  prepared  as  to 
leave  nothing  to  be  desired  in  the  whole  building.  And 
afterwards,  again,  the  promises  of  kindness,  the  threats 
of  severity  by  which  the  little  lad's  love  of  study  was 
stimulated  and  encouraged.  The  lavish  praise  bestowed 
on  any  little  virtue  or  new  accomplishment,  the  quick 
blame  for  anything  mean  or  lazy;  these  were  such  as 
most  men  would  scarce  do  for  their  own  sons.  "  It 
was  a  hard  day  for  me  when  I  lost  my  father,''  writes 
Haidar;  "but  I  scarce  felt  the  loss  owing  to  the  kind- 
ness of  the  Emperor." 

"  Have  a  care,  youngster,"  he  would  say  when,  study 
time  over,  young  Haidar  came  as  usual  to  play  with 


KING-ERRANT  243 

Baby  Humayon.  "  He  is  smaller  than  thou  art.  Never 
be  rough  with  weaklings.  'Tis  not  their  fault.  God 
made  them  so.    And  he  is  thy  cousin,  likewise." 

"  But  Humayon  holds  his  own  already/'  said  Maham, 
proudly.  "  There  is  no  boy  of  his  age  in  the  court  can 
come  nigh  him." 

Babar  laughed  and  put  his  arm  round  her.  *'Yea! 
Yea!  little  mother!  He  is  true  phoenix,  and  we  are  the 
happiest  folk  in  Kabul,  which  means  much."  Then  his 
face  fell,  he  walked  to  the  arched  window-way  and 
looked  out  over  the  garden. 

"  What  is't,  my  lord,"  said  Maham,  at  his  elbow  in 
an  instant. 

He  looked  at  her  affectionately. 

"  Nothing,  my  moon !  'Tis  only  this.  The  dear 
mother  lies  yonder  in  the  Mercy-of-God.  I  would  not 
bring  her  back,  if  I  could.  And  little  Ma'asuma — "  he 
paused  — "  I  would  not  bring  her  back  either,  wife,  if 
I  could.  She  was  too  tender  for  this  world  —  aye! 
even  for  me.  So  she  sleeps  peacefully  —  God  rest  her ! 
—  but  Dearest-One — "  his  voice  broke  —  he  turned 
away  and  Maham  had  nothing  to  say. 

That  thought  was  the  fly  in  the  pot  of  ointment,  it 
was  the  one  bitter  drop  in  the  Crystal-Bowl-of-Life. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"  Bring !  bring  the  musky  scented  wine ! 
A  draught  of  wine  the  memory  cheers, 
And  wakens  thoughts  of  other  years." 

So  the  months,  even  the  years  sped  on  bringing  calm. 
Sometimes  Babar  felt  a  trifle  regretful  over  the  old 
storms.  The  glints  of  sunshine  between  had  seemed, 
mayhap,  the  brighter  for  them.  He  was  now  only  near- 
ing  his  twenty-ninth  year,  and  yet  he  felt  almost  as  if 
life  had  ended  for  him.  He  looked  round  on  his  grow- 
ing family,  on  his  gardens,  his  aqueducts,  his  highly- 
disciplined  small  army;  all  were  well  in  their  way,  but 
for  all  that  his  restless  eyes  followed  the  doings  of 
Shah-Ismael  of  Persia,  who,  young  as  he  was,  a  mere 
boy  in  fact,  had  dared  to  send  the  arch-enemy,  the 
Usbek-raider,  Shaibani  Khan,  a  spinning-wheel  and  a 
spindle,  and  bid  him  if  he  would  not  fight,  go  sit  in  a 
corner  and  busy  himself  with  the  little  present  like  the 
woman  he  was! 

It  had  been  splendid,  that  interchange  of  discourte- 
sies. First  of  all,  the  Shah's  demand  for  a  treaty  fol- 
lowed by  Shaibani's  contemptuous  advice  to  make  no 
claim  for  kingship  through  his  mother,  who  had  with- 
drawn herself  from  the  circle  of  distinction  by  her  mar- 
riage; since  he,  Shaibani,  made  one  through  his  father, 
a  Sultan  and  son  of  a  Sultan.  This  was  accompanied 
by  a  beggar's  bowl  and  staff  with  the  script :  "  In  case 
you  wish,  as  is  fitting,  to  follow  the  profession  of  your 
father,  I  remind  you  of  it  and  the  verse  — 

**  *  Clasp  the  bride  of  sovereignty  close  to  you  if  you  will, 
But  don't  you  dare  to  kiss  her  until  the  swords  are  still.' " 
244 


KING-ERRANT  245 

Shah-Ismael,  however,  had  been  no  whit  behind. 
Back  had  come  the  spindle  and  distaff  with  the  rhyming 
insult  — 

"  Who  boasts  of  his  dead  fathers  only  owns 
Himself  a  dog  that  loveth  ancient  bones." 

After  that,  naturally,  there  was  but  one  end  —  exter- 
mination of  one  or  the  other.     Which  would  it  be? 

Shah-Ismael,  with  his  thousands  of  disciplined  and 
heretical  kizzilbdshes,  or  Shaibani  Khan  with  his  hordes 
of  wild  Mongols? 

"  God's  truth,"  said  Babar  to  old  Kasim  who  had  been 
ailing  this  while  back,  "  I  scarce  know  which  to  choose. 
I  hate  the  Red-caps  almost  as  much  as  the  Moghuls." 

Old  Kasim's  eyes  were  growing  a  little  dim  for  the 
things  of  this  world;  perhaps  he  saw  those  of  the  next 
more  clearly  in  consequence.  "  There  be  good  men  on 
both  sides,  Most-Clement.  A  flat  face  and  split  eyes 
count  no  more  than  a  red-cap  when  we  have  lost  clothes 
and  bodies  at  the  Day-of- Judgment." 

The  shrewd  commonsense  of  the  remark  clung  to 
Babar's  receptive  brain  long  after  the  speaker  had 
gone  to  his  account. 

"  Yea,  I  am  restless,"  admitted  Babar  to  calm 
Maham.  "  I  cannot  help  it,  my  moon !  I  am  not  made 
as  thou  art.  There  was  a  book  at  Samarkand  when  I 
was  a  lad  that  treated  of  the  Great  Waters.  And  it 
said  they  rose  and  fell  as  the  moon  waxed  and  waned. 
So  'tis  thou  who  art  responsible,  sweetheart;  though 
God  knows,  thou  art  ever  full  moon  to  me."  And  he 
sat  down  instantly  to  write  a  ruhai  on  that  fancy.  He 
had  not  half  finished  it,  however,  when  news  came  that 
drove  everything  else  out  of  his  head. 

Shah-Ismael  had  defeated   Shaibani  in  full  force  at 


246  KING-ERRANT 

Meru;  the  Usbek-raider  was  dead,  smothered  in  a  band 
of  escaping  Mongols. 

"  I  must  go,"  muttered  the  young  King  hoarsely ;  *'  I 
must  go.     Samarkand  is  mine  by  right." 

So,  with  hardly  more  than  an  hour's  preparation  he 
was  off,  though  it  was  the  dead  of  winter,  across  the 
snows  to  join  forces  with  his  cousin  of  Badakhshan. 

The  fighting  fever  was  on  him  once  more.  He  could 
not,  he  did  not  even  try,  to  resist  it.  And  Maham  let 
him  go;  she  was  too  wise  to  attempt  to  chain  her  wild 
hawk. 

"  When  spring  comes  we  will  meet  in  Samarkand," 
she  said  quietly. 

He  took  Haidar,  the  boy,  with  him  though,  because 
the  lad  wept  and  refused  to  be  left  behind.  And  right 
proud  was  the  lad,  when  at  the  very  first  fight,  it  was 
the  opportune  arrival  of  a  party  of  his  father's  old  re- 
tainers who  had  :come  out  to  join  their  young  master, 
that  turned  the  tide  of  victory  towards  Babar. 

"  Let  the  name  of  Haidar  Mirza  be  inscribed  on  the 
first  trophy,"  said  the  Emperor  smiling;  and  the  boy's 
blood  went  in  a  surge  of  sheer  delight  to  his  face. 

But,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  able  to  reach  the 
river,  and  settle  himself  in  some  measure  of  security 
at  Kundez,  Babar  felt  himself  not  sufficiently  strong  to 
attempt  Samarkand  without  help.  And  there  was  none 
to  whom  he  could  apply  save  Shah-Ismael,  who  had  al- 
ready sent  him  a  letter  containing  guarded  offers  of 
friendship.  It  rather  went  against  Babar's  orthodox 
grain  to  ask  a  favour  from  a  persecuting  Shiah  heretic ; 
but  old  Kasim's  words  came  back  to  him. 

Yes!  there  was  good  on  all  sides,  and  —  pace  the 
priests !  —  a  man  might  be  an  honest  fellow  in  spite  of 
his  saying  ''  Ameen  "  in  schismatic  fashion.  For  Babar, 
like  many  of  his  like,  had  no  taste  for  dogmatic  dif- 


KING-ERRANT  247 

ferences   and   preferred   to   differentiate  by  visible  and 
audible  signs. 

So  Mirza-Khan,  his  cousin,  was  despatched  to  Irak 
in  order  to  make  the  best  terms  possible,  and  Babar, 
meanwhile,  sent  for  his  family  from  Kabul.  The  spring 
had  passed  to  summer  ere  they  arrived  at  Kundez,  and 
Babar,  now  reinforced  by  some  of  the  surrounding 
tribes,  crossed  the  Amu  and  marched  on  to  await  events 
at  the  strong  fortress  of  Hissar.  It  was  close  on 
eighteen  years  since  he  had  been  encamped  with  his  old 
uncle,  Sultan  Hussain,  upon  the  opposite  bank.  Close 
on  eighteen  years  since,  one  darkling  dawn,  he,  a  lad  of 
thirteen,  dear  old  Kasim-Beg  and  half-a-hundred  or  so 
of  rough,  honest  Andijan  troopers  had  ridden  through 
Khosrau  Shah's  picket,  and  he,  Babar,  had  lost  the 
Crystal  Bowl  which  Gharib  had  given  him. 

And  now?  He  looked  across  to  the  frightened  girl, 
the  mother  of  his  children,  in  a  way  the  mother  of  him- 
self, and  thought  what  a  marvellous  thing  Life  was. 
Even  as  he  saw  it,  limited  by  Birth  and  Death,  isolated 
by  those  five  personal,  bodily  senses  which  none  could 
say  he  shared  exactly  with  his  fellow,  how  strange  it 
was  to  watch  the  compensating  balance  at  work  on  all 
things,  keeping  all  things  as  it  were  to  true,  perfect 
level.  He  looked  back  over  his  life  and  saw  that  bal- 
ance everywhere,  save  in  one  thing.  The  tragedy  of 
Dearest-One   remained   as    ever   poignant,   unappeased. 

"Thou  art  sad,  husband!  what  is't?"  asked  Maham, 
fondly.     She  was  ever  quick  to  see  his  moods. 

"  Nothing,  wife,"  he  answered  gaily.  ''  Save  that  to- 
day or  to-morrow  at  least  comes  the  answer  from 
Shah-Ismael.  What  will  the  red-cap  heretic  reply? 
—  God  knows !  " 

So  with  a  laugh  he  left  her  for  the  cares  of  State. 
But  he  had  scarcely  gone  before  he  was  back  again, 


248  KING-ERRANT 

white,  trembling,  a  gold-dust-sprinkled  letter  in  his 
hand. 

''  It  hath  come,"  he  said  brokenly.  "  It  hath  come 
—  and  oh !   Maham  —  Dearest-One !     Dearest-One  I  " 

He  fell  at  her  feet,  buried  his  face  in  her  lap  and 
sobbed  like  a  child.  She  must  be  dead,  thought 
Maham,  and  to  her  lips  came  the  usual  blankly-tame 
commonplaces  of  consolation. 

"  Nay,  'tis  not  that !  "  he  said,  recovering  his  calm. 
"  She  is  alive  and  well  —  and  Shah-Ismael,  who  hath 
found  her,  is  sending  her  back  to  me  with  all  honour — " 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  suddenly  and  raised  his  right  arm 
high. 

"  Oh,  God !  may  my  arm  wither  if  ever  it  strike  a 
blow  against  this  just  man,  may  my  tongue  dry  up  if 
ever  it  utter  word  of  blame;  I,  Babar,  am  his  servant 
for  ever!     There  is  nothing  I  will  not  do  for  him." 

"  Does  he  not  desire  aught  of  thee  in  return  ?  "  asked 
Maham  when  Babar  had  fairly  outwearied  himself  in 
joy,  in  confessions  of  past  regret,  in  promises  of  future 
content. 

"  Aye !  Yea !  he  asks  much,  but  not  more  than  he 
has  a  right  to  ask  —  not  more  than  I  will  give  cheer- 
fully. And  he  is  sending  men  also,  Maham.  I  shall 
have  an  army  of  sixty  thousand !  With  that  Samarkand 
is  assured,  and,  of  a  truth,  no  man  can  deem  it  a  dis- 
grace to  own  justice  as  his  sovereign  lord!  I  hold  it 
an  honour." 

And  he  upheld  this  view  of  Shah-Ismaers  proposal 
that  if  the  aid  of  the  Persian  kiszilbashes  were  given  to 
conquer  Samarkand,  Babar  should  acknowledge  the 
Persian  Satrapy  as  over-lord,  against  all  the  criticism 
of  his  nobles;  not  that  there  was  much,  for  it  was  in- 
dubitable that  without  such  help  Samarkand  would  re- 
main unwon.    And  Babar  had  many  arguments  in  fa- 


KING-ERRANT  249 

vour  of  this  nominal  vassalage.  To  be  part  of  a  great 
Empire,  was  always  an  advantage;  besides  the  Kings 
of  Samarkand  had  always  in  the  past  acknowledged  a 
suzerain  lordship.  It  had  given  stability  to  the 
dynasty;  and  it  was  of  late  years  only,  since  this  de- 
pendence had  been  removed,  that  Samarkand  had  been 
bandied  from  one  ruler  to  another. 

When  a  man  is  set  on  a  thing,  arguments  for  it  grow 
in  the  very  hedgerows;  and  Babar  with  the  tempting 
bait  of  his  sister's  safe  return  before  his  eyes,  was  too 
full  of  real  gratitude  to  hesitate  an  instant. 

But  it  was  not  for  a  month  or  more  that  he  was  to 
enter  Samarkand  victorious. 

It  was  a  perfect  autumn  day  when,  after  dismissing 
the  Persian  contingent,  Babar  made  his  triumphant  en- 
try. All  along  the  route,  high  and  low,  nobles  and  poor 
men,  grandees  and  artisans,  princes  and  peasants,  alike 
testified  their  joy  at  the  advent  of  one  who  had  already 
twice  before  come  to  them  as  King,  and  who  had  en- 
deared himself  to  them  by  his  kindness  and  generosity. 

The  streets  were  all  draped  with  cloth  and  gold  bro- 
cades; pictures,  drawings,  wreaths,  were  hung  up  on 
every  side.  Such  pomp  and  splendour  no  one  has  ever 
seen  or  heard  of  before  or  since.  He  was  received  at 
the  Gate  by  the  great  men  of  the  city,  who  assured  him 
that  the  inhabitants  had  for  years  been  longing  that 
the  shadow  of  his  protection  might  be  cast  upon  them. 

Babar,  who  was  dressed,  rather  to  their  regret,  in 
the  uniform  of  a  kizzilbdsh  General  (which  smacked 
of  heresy,  almost  of  unbelief)  responded  heartily,  and 
all  eyes  followed  his  splendid  figure  as  he  rode  through 
the  streets  saluting  the  crowd  right  and  left.  He  was 
in  the  highest  spirits,  for  he  knew  that  in  the  very 
Palace  where  she  had  been  left  ten  long  years  before, 
his  dearest  sister  was  awaiting  him. 


250  KING-ERRANT 

Dearest-One!  It  seemed  almost  too  good  to  be  true. 
—  God  save  the  man  who  had  brought  this  happiness 
into  his  hfe! 

Impatient,  headstrong  in  all  his  emotions,  he  would 
gladly  have  cut  short  his  reception  and  gone  straight 
to  her;  but  the  people  would  not  be  denied  a  sight  of 
their  hero.  If  the  angels  were  crying  aloud  '*  Enter  in 
peace ! "  and  the  populace  was  shouting  "  God  save  the 
Emperor ! "  the  least  he  could  do  was  to  listen  to  them 
patiently. 

So  it  was  nigh  dusk  before  he  found  himself,  trem- 
bling with  sheer  joy,  in  the  Garden-Palace  and  saw  be- 
fore him  a  tall,  slender  figure  in  white  — 

"  Dearest-One !  Dearest-One ! "  he  cried  and  was 
kissing  her  feet,  her  hands,  her  thin,  worn  face. 

"  Brotherling !     Brotherling !  " 

That  was  all  they  said.  And  then  they  held  back  to 
see  each  other.  She  saw  strength,  and  health,  and 
manhood  such  as  she  had  scarce  dreamed  of,  even  for 
him;  a  man  of  past  thirty  in  the  very  prime  of  all 
things.  And  he  saw  a  woman  of  nigh  forty  with  streaks 
of  silver  in  her  dark  hair,  upright,  tall,  but  with  a 
weariness  even  in  her  joy. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Dearest-One,"  he  said  humbly  as  he 
had  said  to  her  many  a  time  when  as  a  child  he  had 
grieved  her. 

"And  I  am  glad,"  she  replied  softly. 

That  night  the  city  seemed  on  fire.  Flares  blazed 
from  every  house,  the  flickering  lines  of  countless  lights 
seemed  to  interlock  one  street  with  another.  Vast 
crowds  surged  through  them,  and  far  and  wide  rose 
Babar's  praise. 

But  at  the  door  of  a  mosque  an  old  white-bearded 
mullah  sat  and  spat  calmly.  **  He  wore  the  accursed  red- 
cap of  the  schismatic  —  Wherefore?  " 


KING-ERRANT  251 

And  the  folk  who  heard  him  looked  at  each  other 
and  echoed: 

"Wherefore?" 

That  was  the  question.  Asked  by  one  to-day,  it  was 
asked  by  half-a-dozen  the  next,  by  a  hundred  the  week 
after,  when  Babar,  faithful  as  ever  to  his  promises,  had 
the  Kutba,  the  Royal  Proclamation,  read  in  the  name  of 
Shah-Ismael  as  over-lord.  A  thousand  asked  it  when 
the  first  gold  coin  was  struck  bearing  the  hated  Shiah 
legends.  The  Emperor,  the  man  they  had  welcomed, 
was  a  heretic.     He  and  his  army  wore  the  red-cap. 

Samarkand,  head  centre  of  orthodoxy,  became 
alarmed,  began  to  whisper. 

"  I  am  no  heretic,  but  a  keeper  of  promises,''  said 
Babar  grimly,  and  went  on  his  way.  He  had  become  a 
trifle  arrogant,  and  inclined  to  resent  any  interference. 
The  Samarkand  folk  were  rude,  ignorant,  bigoted;  he 
would  not  even  try  to  pacify  them. 

So  the  winter  passed  and  spring  set  in  —  (the  plenti- 
ful drops  of  her  rain  having  clothed  the  earth  in  green 
raiment)  —  and  with  the  warmer  weather  the  Usbeks 
once  more  appeared  like  locusts  on  the  edge  of  the 
Turkhestan  desert  and  the  fight  for  Samarkand  began 
all  over  again. 

And  this  time  Babar  with  not  a  wish  ungratified, 
Babar  in  the  plenitude  of  his  pride  and  strength,  was 
forced  to  flight;  for  religious  bigotry  is  the  hardest  of 
all  foes  to  fight. 

A  horde  of  kizdlbashes,  it  is  true,  was  sent  by  his 
over-lord  to  help  him;  but  they  only  made  matters 
worse.  First  by  their  confirmation  of  heresy;  next  by 
their  brutality  in  murdering  high  and  low,  the  sucklings 
and  the  decrepit. 

Sick  at  heart,  Babar  found  himself  once  more  a 
wanderer ;  once  more  a  prey  to  the  treachery  of  Moghul 


252  KING-ERRANT 

troops,  from  which  he  escaped  one  night  with  bare  life 
and  in  his  night  clothes. 

His  one  consolation  was  that  Maham,  Dearest-One 
and  his  children,  were  safe  with  relatives  in  Khost. 

No!  he  had  another  consolation;  for  the  man  who 
had  set  aside  wine  as  an  enhancement  of  pleasure,  now 
took  to  it  as  a  lessener  of  care.  The  Cup-of-Life  for 
him  was  filled  again  and  again  with  the  Wine-of-Death, 
and  he  laughed  as  he  quaffed  at  its  bubbles  on  the  rim. 
Vaguely,  too,  came  to  him  a  sort  of  disgust  at  dogmatic 
creeds.  He  would  sit  and  sing  Sufic  odes  with  fervour, 
and  praise. 

Perhaps  with  a  man  of  his  temperament,  it  was  only 
to  be  expected. 

"  The  wine,  the  lamp  which  night  and  day 
Lights  us  along  our  weary  way. 
Saki !  thou  knowest  I  worship  wine, 
Let  that  delicious  cup  be  mine, 
Wine !  pure  and  limpid  as  my  tears." 


BOOK    III 
FRUIT    TIME 
1525    TO    1530 


CHAPTER  I 

"  The  Long  Years  slide, 
The  Door  of  Life  stands  wide, 
Ghosts   creep   inside, 
With  their  dead  fingers  hide 
Present  from  Past. 
Dear  God  be  kind! 
Grant  that  I  keep  enshrined 
Within  my  mind 
The  Love  of  Human-kind, 
Until  the  Last." 

Babar  sat  overlooking  a  Kabul  valley,  a  tall,  straight, 
still  athletic  man  of  two-and-forty. 

Twelve  years  had  passed  since,  broken,  crestfallen  at 
his  failure  to  keep  the  loyalty  of  Samarkand,  he  had 
shaken  the  dust  of  his  kingly  hopes  in  Transoiana 
from  him  for  ever,  returned  to  Kabul  and  set  himself 
another  emprise  —  the  conquest  of  India.  Thus  far  he 
had  not  succeeded.  Three  or  four  attempts  had  been 
made,  in  themselves  satisfactory,  in  result  futile.  On 
his  last  expedition  he  had  got  as  far  as  Lahore;  but  he 
had  had  to  return  for  reinforcements  to  Kabul,  leaving 
a  doubtfully-loyal  governor  in  the  Punjab.  So  he  was 
still  no  more,  no  less,  than  King-of- Kabul ;  for  those 
twelve  years  had  brought  a  marked  diminution  in  the 
vivid  initiative  of  his  younger  years.  He  was  up  at 
dawn  as  usual,  it  is  true;  the  wine  he  had  drunk  over- 
night had  never  been  allowed  to  cloud  his  days ;  yet  those 
twelve  comparatively  empty  years  remained,  and  re- 
main, in  mute  testimony  to  the  toxic  power  of  the  body 
over  the  mind.  He  felt  this  himself  vaguely;  for  he 
was  always  sensitive  to  the  touch  of  truth. 

255 


256  KING-ERRANT 

He  had  begun  wine-bibbing  of  deliberate  intent  He 
had  told  himself  that  he  would  only  indulge  for  ten 
years,  until  he  was  forty.  Indeed,  wanting  one  year 
of  that  age  he  had  drunk  more  copiously  as  a  sort  of 
send-off  to  virtue.  But  virtue  had  not  come.  As  he 
sat  overlooking  the  valley  where  his  twelve  thousand 
troops  were  encamped,  the  instinct  to  enhance  his  keen 
enjoyment  of  the  beauty  he  saw  found  words  in  an 
order  for  a  beaker  of  good  Shiraz  wine,  and  an  inti- 
mation that  the  Pavilion-of-Spirits  was  to  be  prepared, 
his  friends  and  boon  companions  warned. 

The  royal  cup-bearer  brought  a  golden  goblet  filled 
to  the  brim,  and  he  quaflfed  it  down  like  mother's  milk; 
so  —  the  cup  still  in  his  hands  that  hung  between  his 
knees  —  sat  drinking  in  that  intoxicating  beauty  of  the 
splendid  world. 

For  it  was  still  splendid  to  him;  though  for  twelve 
years  he  had  seldom  gone  to  bed  strictly  sober.  His 
face,  however,  showed  no  sign  of  his  life,  save  in  a  cer- 
tain premature  haggardness  of  cheek.  The  eyes  were 
clear  as  ever,  and  had  gained  in  their  falcon-like  keen- 
ness by  reason  of  his  slight  stoop,  not  from  the  shoul- 
ders, but  the  neck. 

It  was  sunset.  The  crests  of  the  surrounding  hills 
showed  softly  violet  against  the  clear,  primrose  sky. 
The  girdle  of  the  distant  snow  peaks  were  losing  the 
last  faint  flush  of  day;  the  cold  icy  pallor  that  was 
icreeping  over  them,  matched  the  low,  level  mist  streaks 
which  were  beginning  to  stretch,  like  a  winding  sheet, 
over  the  darker  purple  shadow  of  the  valley.  A  shadow 
that  looked  like  the  sky  at  night,  all  set  as  it  was  with 
constellations  of  camp  fires     .     .     . 

"  Slave !     Another  goblet  of  wine !  " 

But,  even  as  he  gave  the  order,  a  twinge  of  conscience 
made  him  remember  the  Arabic  verse :  "  The  breach  of 


KING-ERRANT  257 

a  promise  avenges  itself  on  the  promise  breaker."  But 
it  was  only  a  twinge.  After  all,  most  of  the  wine  par- 
ties  had  been  guileless  and  innocent.  He  could  scarcely 
recollect  being  miserably  drunk  more  than  once  or  twice ; 
and  then  he  had  always  suffered  horribly  in  the  stomach 
for  his  sin.  And  but  one  or  two  parties  had  been  dis- 
agreeable, as  when  one  Gedai,  being  troublesome-drunk 
had  tried  to  recline  on  the  royal  pillow,  and  had  had  to 
be  turned  out  neck  and  crop  by  royalty  itself;  such 
royalty  having  invariably  a  stronger  head  than  the  other 
carousers. 

But  even  that  had  been  rather  funny;  though  not  so 
funny  as  on  the  day  when,  drinking  in  the  open,  they 
had  been  apprised  of  the  enemy's  approach  and  Dost- 
Mahomed  could  not  —  despite  skins  full  of  water  — 
be  got  on  his  horse;  so  Amni,  being  solemn-drunk,  had 
suggested  that  rather  than  leave  him  in  that  condition 
to  fall  into  the  enemy's  hands  it  would  be  better  at  once 
to  cut  off  his  head  and  take  it  away  to  some  place  of 
safety ! 

The  very  remembrance  brought  laughter.  Babar 
tossed  off  the  second  beaker  of  wine,  and  stood  up 
quoting  Nizami's  verses: 

"  Oh !  bring  the  musky  scented  wine. 
The  key  of  mirth  which  must  be  mine, 
The  key  which  opens  wide  the  door 
Of  rapture  rich  and  varied  store, 
And  o*er  the  temper  casts  a  spell 
Of  kindness  indescribable." 

In  those  last  words  lay  the  secret  of  Babar's  superi- 
ority to  the  debasing  influence  of  his  life. 

His  kindness  was  simply  indescribable,  and  he  stuck  to 
his  code  of  honour  and  morality  with  a  certain  fastidi- 
ousness.    Men  must  carry  their  liquor  like  gentlemen, 


258  KING-ERRANT 

no  man  must  be  pressed  to  drink  wine,  no  private  house 
be  unwillingly  defiled  with  its  use,  even  if  the  Emperor 
were  the  guest.  Above  all  things,  wine  must  not  inter- 
fere with  duty.  He  would  follow  the  advice  he  had  had 
cut  on  the  side  of  the  little,  red  granite  cistern  among 
the  Judas  trees  in  the  Four-corner  Garden  of  Kabul  — 
the  little  cistern  that  was  so  often  filled  with  redder 
wine  —  he  would  sing  with  the  singers  and  lutists: 

"  Sweet  are  the  smiling  Springs, 
Sweet  what  each  New  Year  brings, 
Sweet  is  a  cup  of  wine, 
Sweeter  is  Love  divine. 
Oh,  Babar !     Seize  them  all. 
They  pass  beyond  recall." 

He  would  seize  all;  but  he  would  remain  a  kindly 
gentleman. 

And  so  —  if  he  were  to  send  his  letter  to  Maham,  his 
dear  wife,  his  ever-sweet  guardian  and  friend,  that 
night,  he  must  finish  it  ere  going  up  the  Pavilion-of- 
Spirits ! 

They  were  constant  correspondents,  those  two,  and 
although  they  had  only  parted  from  each  other  at  the 
Garden-of-Fidelity  a  day  or  two  before,  he  had  plenty 
to  say  to  her,  both  as  his  moon,  the  woman  who  was 
the  chief  influence  of  his  life,  and  also  as  the  head  of 
his  family.  For  Maham's  other  children  having  died 
in  infancy,  leaving  none  but  Humayon  in  direct  descent, 
Babar,  by  her  advice,  had  married  again.  The  youngest 
of  three  sons  thus  born  he  had  made  over  at  birth  to 
Maham  who  was  bringing  the  little  Hindal  up  as  her 
own.  At  the  tribunal  of  his  own  heart,  this  was  ever 
an  action  to  be  slurred  over.  It  had  doubtless  brought 
great  grief  to  the  real  mother,  a  good  woman  who  had 
done  her  duty  by  him  in  giving  him  children.     Still  it 


KING-ERRANT  259 

had  all  been  settled  by  usual  custom.  The  auguries 
had  been  consulted  before  the  birth  of  the  child,  and 
Maham  had  taken  the  chance  of  its  being  a  girl.  Yet 
.  .  .  In  good  sooth  that  whole  year,  with  its  episode 
of  the  taking  of  Bajour,  touched  a  lower  level  than  any 
other  in  Babar's  thoughts.  He  had  been  six  and  thirty, 
it  was  the  first  time  he  had  used  match-lock  men  or 
artillery,  and  somehow  —  possibly  because  he  had  be- 
gun to  take  drugs  as  well  as  wine  —  he  had  reverted 
to  inherited  instinct.  He  had  been  minded  to  emulate 
his  ancestor  Timur  —  he  had  done  so     .     .     . 

Three  thousand  infidels  put  to  the  sword !     .     .     . 

Babar  escaped  from  the  remembrance  and  palliated  the 
action  by  telling  himself  that  the  Afghans  were  an  im- 
possible race,  strangely  foolish  and  senseless,  possessed 
of  little  reflection  and  less  foresight.  What  trouble  had 
not  the  Yusufzais  given  him  until  he  had  attached  them 
by  marrying  the  daughter  of  their  chief. 

That,  anyhow,  had  not  been  sordid.  Babar  recalled 
the  whole  incident  with  pleasure.  How  he  had  gone, 
disguised  as  a  wandering  mendicant  to  the  chiefs  fort, 
during  a  feast,  in  order  to  spy  out  the  land.  How  the 
Lady  Mubarika  —  the  Blessed-Damozel  —  had  noticed 
the  handsome  beggar  and  sent  him  food  from  her  own 
dish.  How  he  had  thanked  her,  found  out  she  was  not 
betrothed,  and  had  wrapped  the  food  she  had  given  him 
in  his  handkerchief,  hidden  it  in  a  hole  in  the  wall,  and 
gone  back  to  claim  her  as  his  bride. 

"  I  have  no  daughter,"  came  back  the  proud  answer. 

"  Ask  her  concerning  a  wandering  mendicant,"  Babar 
replied,  ''  and  if  more  proof  be  wanted,  find  the  food  the 
gracious  Lady  gave,  wrapped  in  my  handkerchief  and 
hidden  in  a  breach  of  thy  fort.     So  let  it  be  peace ! " 

And  peace  it  had  been ;  for  the  Lady  Mubarika  .  .  .  ! 
Could  he  ever  forget  her  grace  and  dignity  as  she  stood 


260  KING-ERRANT 

before  him  for  the  first  time  as  a  bride?  When  she  had 
let  slip  her  veil  and  laid  her  pale  h  .nds  on  her  pale 
bosom. 

"  My  lord !  Remember  that  the  whole  tribe  of  Yu- 
sufzais  sits  enshrined  in  my  heart! " 

It  had  been  fine! 

No !  Even  though  Maham  had  held  his  soul,  that,  and 
his  passionate  appreciation  of  it,  had  been  a  gleam  in  a 
dark  year.  And  no  one  had  ever  had  an  unkind  word 
for  the  Lady  Mubarika.  Childless,  reserved,  quiet,  she 
was  yet  a  power  in  that  household  he  had  left  behind 
him  in  Kabul.     So  he  wrote  to  his  moon : 

''  Thou  hast  good  friends  with  thee.  That  Dearest- 
One  and  the  Blessed-Damozel  are  as  sisters  to  thee,  is 
ever  a  consolation  to  me.  Also  that  our  farewell  was  in 
that  same  garden  where  my  first  love  died,  and  rose 
again  in  thee.  In  truth  it  was  in  its  greatest  glory ;  the 
flowers  yellow,  purple,  red,  springing  everywhere,  all 
mingled  together  as  if  they  had  been  flung  and  scat- 
tered abroad  from  the  full  basket  of  God.  The  pome- 
granate trees  so  beautifully  yellow,  the  fruit  hanging 
red  upon  the  boughs.  The  grass  plots  covered  with  the 
second  crop  of  white  and  pink  clover.  The  orange 
bushes  so  green  and  cheerful,  laden  with  their  golden 
globes.  In  good  sooth,  of  all  the  gardens  I  have 
planted  —  God  knows  how  many  —  this  one  is  the 
crown;  none  could  view  it  without  acknowledging  its 
charm.  Humayon  hath  come  to  join  me  as  arranged, 
though  somewhat  tardily,  for  which  I  spoke  to  him  with 
considerable  severity;  nathless  with  difliculty,  my  moon, 
since  he  is  thy  son  and  the  beauty,  and  vigour,  and  val- 
iance  of  his  seventeen  years  would  disarm  an  ogre. 

"  Bid  Ma'asuma  be  a  good  girl  till  my  return  and  tell 
her  I  will  keep  her  husband's  life  safe  as  my  own ;  and 
greet  little  Rosebody  from  her  father.     Lo !  is  there  aught 


KING-ERRANT  261 

in  the  wide  world  more  captivating  to  a  man's  heart  than 
his  female  children.  Except  perchance,  my  moon!  his 
wife." 

Ten  minutes  after  despatching  this,  sealed  and  signed, 
by  special  runner,  Babar  was  the  centre  of  the  merri- 
ment in  the  Palace-of-Spirits.  In  good  sooth  at  that 
early  hour,  it  was  innocent  and  guileless  enough.  A 
party  of  men,  chosen  chiefly  because  they  were  of  like 
temperament  to  himself,  all  of  them  distinguished  by  gen- 
eral bonhommie  and  not  a  few  by  wit  and  accomplish- 
ments, all  met  together  to  enjoy  themselves,  sometimes 
with  the  aid  of  aromatic  confections,  sometimes  with 
wine  or  spirits. 

To-night  it  was  the  latter,  so  the  fun  waxed  fast. 

The  screens  of  the  tent  had  been  thrown  back;  they 
could  see  the  valley  beneath  them  studded  with  fire  stars. 

"  Look !  Most-Clement !  "  cried  Tardi-Beg.  "  Yonder, 
I  swear,  is  the  Heft-Aurang." 

Babar  bent  his  keen  eyes  hastily  on  the  flickering 
lights.  Aye,  the  Heft-Aurang  —  the  Seven  thrones! 
The  thought  took  him  back  with  a  rush  to  Baisanghar, 
dead  these  twenty  years;  from  him,  memory  fled  to 
Gharib  and  the  Crystal-Bowl-of-Life.  He  carried  the 
copy  Maham  had  given  him  in  his  bosom  always,  though 
he  seldom  used  it.  It  was  too  small  for  wine!  But 
some  day  —  aye!  —  some  day  soon  —  he  would  keep  his 
promise  to  himself  and  forswear  drinking. 

"  Yea ! "  remarked  Ali-Jan,  not  to  be  outdone,  ''  and 
yonder  to  the  right  are  the  Brothers." 

"  And  look  you  to  the  left,  the  Warrior,"  stuttered 
Abul-Majid.     "  His  sword  is  somewhat  crooked." 

"  Tis  thine  eyes  are  askew,"  laughed  Shaikh-Zin. 
"  Thou  never  hadst  a  head  worth  a  spoonful  of  decent 
Shiraz." 

So  in  laughter,  and  quips,  and  cranks,  the  merriment 


262  KING-ERRANT 

waxed.  They  could  most  of  them  string  verses  after  a 
fashion,  and  some  of  them  began  reciting  their  latest 
efforts.  The  climax  being  reached  when  Ali-Jan  gravely 
gave  a  well-known  couplet  as  his  own! 

"When  lovers  think,   their  thoughts  are  not   their  own. 
But  each  to  each  Love's  communings  have  flown." 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  pirate ! "  came  Babar's  full  joyous 
voice.  "  That  is  Mahomed  Shaikh.  Thou  couldst  not 
write  such  an  one  for  thy  life." 

Ali-Jan,  who  was  already  far  gone,  waggled  his  head. 
"  Lo ! ''  he  said  with  a  hiccup,  "  I  could  do  —  doz-shens !  " 

"And  I."  "And  I,"  chorused  others  militantly,  for 
the  spirits  were  rising  fast. 

"  So  be  it !  "  cried  Babar,  as  ever  the  most  sober  of  the 
party.  "  Let  us  all  try  and  parody  it  extempore !  Now 
then,  Ali-Jan — 'tis  thy  turn  first.  Rise  and  out  with  it 
instanter!" 

Ali-Jan  rose  gravely  and  stood  swaying.  "  When  — " 
he  began  solemnly.     "  When  — " 

Then  he  subsided,  gravely  and  solemnly.  The  roar 
of  consequent  laughter  was  dominated  by  Babar's  joyous 
shout,  "  I  have  it !     I  have  it !  " 

"When  Ali  drinks,  his  legs  are  not  his  own. 
Each  seeks  support  and  neither  stands  alone." 

"  Shabash  !  Wah !  Wah !  Ha !  Ha !  Ha !  "  The  up- 
roarious mirth  echoed  out  into  the  still  night. 

"  The  Emperor  is  merry,"  quoth  the  sentries  in  the 
valley,  with  a  smile. 

"  Aye !  but  he  looks  ill  for  all  that,"  said  an  orthodox 
old  trooper.  "  I  saw  him  shiver  yestere'en  when  he  swam 
the  stream  in  his  clothes,  and  the  water  was  lukewarm. 
Time  was,  not  so  long  ago,  when  he  would  have  swum 


KING-ERRANT  263 

an  ice  torrent  and  felt  no  cold;  now,  he  hath  taken  a 
chill." 

Whether  the  man  was  right  in  the  cause  thereof,  he 
was  correct  in  the  illness.  The  next  morning  found 
Babar  down  with  so  severe  a  defluxion,  fever,  and 
cough,  that  he  spat  blood.  The  court  physician  dosed 
him  with  narcissus  flowers  steeped  in  wine,  and  Ali-Jan, 
Tardi-Beg  and  all  the  other  boon  companions  sat  with 
the  monarch  to  cheer  him  up  by  laying  the  blame  of  the 
illness  on  the  cold,  or  the  heat,  or  what  not.  But  Babar 
himself  knew  whence  the  indisposition  proceeded,  and 
what  conduct  had  led  to  this  chastisement.  What  busi- 
ness had  he  to  laugh  at  folk  in  verse  for  his  own  amuse- 
ment? Still  less,  no  matter  how  mean  or  contemptible 
the  doggerel,  to  take  pride  in  it  and  write  it  down?  It 
was  regrettable  that  a  tongue  which  could  repeat  the 
sublimest  productions,  should  lend  itself  to  unworthy 
rhymes ;  it  was  melancholy  that  a  heart  capable  of  nobler 
conceptions  should  stoop  to  meaner  and  despicable  verses. 
From  henceforth  he  would  abstain  religiously  from  vitu- 
perative poetry. 

This  excellent  resolution  —  or  something  else  —  proved 
curative ;  and  Babar  was  soon  on  the  mend  and  was 
able  to  write  the  following: 

"  Oh !  what  can  I  do  with  you,  flagrant  tongue? 
On  your  account  I  deserve  to  be  hung. 
How  long  will  you  utter  bad  parodies. 
One  half  indecent,  the  other  half  lies? 
If  you  wish  to  escape  being  damned  —  Up  rein ! 
Ride  off  —  nor  venture  near  verse  again." 

To  which  he  appended  a  quatrain  in  his  best  Arabic : 

"  Oh,  God !     Creator  of  the  World !  My  soul 
I  broke  upon  the  Wheel  of  Evil  sore. 


264  KING-ERRANT 

Cleanse  me  from  sin,  my  God,  and  make  me  whole. 
Else  cursed  shall  I  be  for  evermore." 

He  felt  better  after  thus  committing  his  penitence  to 
writing.  So  with  renewed  vitality,  and  gathering  his 
force  together  as  he  went  along,  he  crossed  the  Sind 
river  to  find  the  moment  ripe  for  his  emprise.  India 
was  in  a  turmoil,  divided  by  two  rival  claimants  to  its 
throne. 

The  whole  country  was  over-run  by  armies,  more  or 
less  independent;  the  whilom  Governor  of  Lahore  at 
the  head  of  one,  numbering  over  forty  thousand  men, 
chiefly  Afghans. 

It  broke  up,  however,  by  sheer  invertebrate  disintegra- 
tion, ere  Babar  could  reach  it,  and  he  passed  on,  unop- 
posed, by  the  lower  Kashmir  hills,  by  Bhimber  and 
Jhelum  till  he  arrived  at  Sialkot,  keeping  all  the  while 
close  to  the  skirts  of  the  mountains  where  retreat  and 
safety  might  be  found  if  needs  be. 

But  now,  before  him,  lay  the  wide  plain  of  the  Pun- 
jab. Here  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Babar  faced  a 
real  galloping  country  where  horsemen  could,  indeed, 
charge  to  some  purpose.  But  with  flat  plain  behind  him 
it  was  necessary  that  the  plain  should  be  friendly.  To 
ensure  this  needed  delay,  he  had  to  negotiate,  to 
threaten,  to  pacify.  Half-a-dozen  petty  chiefs  had  to  be 
brought  to  their  senses,  and  those  senses  were  so  dull,  so 
rude,  so  provokingly  stupid.  What  for  instance  could  be 
said  to  a  man  who  actually  claimed  to  be  seated  in  the 
Presence,  when  nobles  and  princes  of  the  blood-royal 
stood  by  in  all  humility? 

Babar's  language  on  such  occasions  was  always  frank, 
truthful,  utterly  unanswerable. 

"  The  Most-Clement  hath  settled  his  hash,"  remarked 
the  Prime-Minister  with  a  smile,  when  the  old  ex-gov- 


KING-ERRANT  265 

ernor  of  Lahore,  having  been  caught,  was  brought  before 
the  Emperor,  with  the  two  swords  which  the  rebel  had 
boastfully  hung  round  his  neck  as  sign  of  unyielding 
opposition,  still  dangling  under  his  chin.  This  by  Ba- 
bar's  own  order,  to  emphasise  the  trouncing  which  sent 
the  old  sinner  away  unharmed,  but  sadder  and  wiser. 

"  Yea  I  "  replied  the  Emperor  quite  gravely.  "  Yet  I 
told  him  naught  but  what  he  deserved  most  truly,  for 
I  had  done  much  for  him.  And,  as  thou  sawest,  he  had 
no  answer.  He  did,  indeed,  stammer  out  a  few  words, 
but  not  at  all  to  the  purpose,  for  what  reply  could  he 
make  to  such  confounding  truths?" 

"  Of  a  surety,  none,'*  assented  his  hearers,  still  with  a 
smile.  Folk  had  to  smile  often  over  Babar's  frank,  out- 
spoken clarity. 

So,  by  slow  degrees,  and  not  without  many  a  drink- 
ing-party,  Sirhind  was  reached;  and  here  the  Emperor's 
soul  was  refreshed  by  the  sight  of  a  rivulet  of  running 
water!  It  was  almost  unbelievable;  and  no  doubt  he 
drank  a  libation  of  something  stronger  in  its  honour. 

Then,  but  a  few  miles  farther  on^  he  came  upon  an 
extremely  beautiful  and  delightful  place  with  a  charm- 
ing climate,  where,  perforce,  he  had  to  halt  a  few  days 
if  only  to  explore  the  neighbouring  country  which 
promised  well.  Doubtless  he  was  close  to  the  southern 
spurs  of  the  Sewalik  hills,  and  here,  in  one  of  the  side 
valleys,  he  found  himself  on  the  bank  of  one  of  those 
oleander-set  streams,  where  the  butterflies  get  mixed 
up  with  strange  sweet-scented  flowering  shrubs.  One  of 
those  streams  which  in  the  dry  season  are  beds  of  boul- 
ders with  a  half-hidden  trickle  of  water  amongst  the 
stones ;  but  which,  in  the  rains,  swell  extremely  and  rush 
down  in  a  perfect  torrent  to  join  that  strange  Gaggar 
river  which  rises  forty  feet  in  a  night,  and  sweeps  away, 
resistless,  to  a  still  stranger  fate  —  to  total  disappear- 


266  KING-ERRANT 

ance  in  the  sands  of  the  Rajputana  desert.  A  fate 
which  must  have  impressed  the  Emperor  with  his  keen 
appreciation  of  the  poetry  in  life. 

And  here,  in  early  March,  these  same  flowering  shrubs 
must  have  been  budding,  the  butterflies  must  have  been 
fluttering  over  the  new  russet  shoots  of  the  maiden-hair 
fern;  and  in  sheltered  spots  Babar's  favourite  Judais 
trees  must  have  been  in  bloom. 

The  temptation  was  too  great !  He  called  another  halt, 
and  set  to  work,  not  to  drink,  but  to  make  a  garden ; 
while,  not  to  lose  time,  he  sent  out  scouts  and  spies  to 
bring  him  intelligence  as  to  his  enemy's  movements. 
Doubtless  as  he  laid  out  his  favourite  Four-cornered 
Garden,  he  drank  success  to  it,  and  dreamt  happy,  if 
confused,  dreams  of  stone-watercourses  and  bright  foun- 
tains after  the  Kabul  pattern;  for  he  wrote  and  told 
Maham  all  about  it.  And  he  told  her  also  that  her  son 
Humayon  was  bearing  himself  like  a  hero  and  had  gone 
out  with  a  light  force  to  reconnoitre  and  disperse  some 
wandering  bands  of  marauders;  but  that  he  would  be 
back  again  of  course,  for  his  eighteenth  birthday  on  the 
6th,  when  there  was  to  be  a  great  festival  on  the  occa- 
sion of  the  first  beard-cutting;  such  a  festival  as  would 
have  delighted  the  heart  of  the  old  grandmother  Isan- 
daulet  —  on  whom  be  peace ! 

And  his  thoughts  waxed  soft  and  young  again  with 
the  remembrance  of  that  shaving  of  his  own  —  on  his 
eighteenth  birthday  —  on  the  upland  meadow  close  to 
the  Roof-of-the- World  when  there  was  but  one  real  tent 
in  his  encampment,  and  his  following  had  consisted  of 
more  than  one  and  less  than  two  hundred  tatterdema- 
lions.  Times  had  changed ;  and  yet  he  was  defying  Fate 
to  the  full  as  much  as  in  those  far  away  days;  for 
against  his  twelve  thousand  troops  all  told,  the  whole 
strength  of  Northern  India  was  gathering  itself  upon 


KING-ERRANT  267 

the  plain  above  Delhi.  That  fateful  plain  where  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  men  had  already  given  up  their 
lives  in  battles  which  for  their  time  had  decided  the  fate 
of  Hindustan. 

What  would  that  fate  be  now? 

He  was  not  without  thought ;  but  he  was  without  fear. 
He  meant  to  win.  Meanwhile  till  the  fateful  moment  of 
fight  arrived  there  was  the  Garden!  When  that  was 
fairly  started,  news  came  that  the  enemy  had  begun  to 
advance  slowly.  It  was  time  therefore  to  be  on  the 
move.  But  the  broad,  calm  stream  of  the  Jumna  river 
was  not  to  be  allowed  to  slip  past  without  being  pressed 
into  the  service  of  pleasure,  so,  while  the  army  held  down 
the  bank  for  two  marches  Babar  sailed  down  in  an  awn- 
ing-covered boat  and  explored  many  a  side  stream  where 
the  bottle-nosed  alligators  lay  on  the  sand  banks  like  logs, 
and  great  flocks  of  flamingoes,  white  in  the  distance,  rose 
startled  into  flaming  red  clouds.  And  in  the  still  even- 
ings so  cool,  so  pleasant,  Babar,  who  had  a  genius  for 
the  comfortable,  ordered  aromatic  confections  to  be 
served,  and  the  party  floated  down  stream  in  dreamy 
content,  trailing  their  hands  in  the  refreshing  water  and 
singing  low-toned  songs  in  a  whisper,  until,  suddenly  the 
boat  touched  a  sandbank,  and  Shah-Hussan  went  over  on 
his  back,  laid  hold  of  Kali-Gokultash,  who  was  cutting  a 
melon,  and  both  fell  into  the  water,  the  latter  leaving  the 
knife  he  held,  stuck  point  down  in  the  deck !  And  what 
is  more,  he  refused  to  regain  the  boat,  but  continued 
swimming  in  his  best  gown  and  dress  of  honour  till  the 
shore  was  reached! 

But  there  —  a  fine  figure  of  a  young  man,  handsomer 
in  face  than  his  father  ever  was,  taller  in  height,  yet 
without  the  latter's  inexpressible  charm  —  stood  Huma- 
yon  to  join  in  the  laughter  for  a  few  moments,  but  then 
to  give  news  which  ended  fooling. 


268  KING-ERRANT 

The  advance  party  of  Sultan-Ibrahim's  army  was 
within  touch. 

Babar  was  ready  on  the  instant.  He  was  out  of  the 
boat  before  it  was  moored,  giving  orders,  short,  sharp, 
stern. 

The  time  for  play  was  over. 


CHAPTER  II 

"It  is  the  time  of  roses; 
Green  are  the  young  wheat  fields; 
The  onward  march  of  the  foes  is 
Hid  by  a  dark  night's  shield. 

Over  the  sand  hills,  sun-dried, 
Thirsting  for  blood  of  men, 
An  hundred  thousand  on  one  side. 
On  the  other  only  ten! 

What  will  the  Dawn  be  showing. 
Fate  of  the  Parched  Mouth? 
Will  the  Cup-of-Death  be  flowing 
With  blood  of  North  or  South?" 

All  that  night  the  Emperor  sat  in  his  tent  working 
out  his  plan  of  attack.  Even  his  brief  connection  with 
the  red-cap  Persian  Army  had  given  him  an  insight 
into  a  new  science  of  war;  for  though  it  was  brutal 
in  the  details  of  its  methods,  these  methods  had  been 
learnt  from  the  Turks ;  who  in  their  turn  had  learnt  them 
still  farther  West.  And  Babar  was  a  born  general.  He 
had  that  firm  touch  on  the  pulse  of  his  army  by  which 
he  knew  its  moments  of  weakness,  and  when  to  seize 
and  utilise  the  fierce  throb  of  fight- fever,  that  comes  at 
times  to  the  blood  of  the  most  peaceful. 

So  the  Emperor  made  his  plan  first;  and  then,  being 
wise,  bowed  to  the  wisdom  of  his  ancestors  by  calling 
together  a  general  council  of  all  who  had  experience  and 
knowledge;  but  not,  be  it  noted,  until  every  part  of  his 
scheme  was  in  order  and  ready.  Not  until  right  and  left 
wings,  and  centre,  had  been  apportioned;  not  until  the 
gun     carriages  —  seven     hundred     in     all  —  had     been 

269 


270  KING-ERRANT 

laagered  together  with  twisted  hide  ropes  as  with  chains ; 
not  till  the  tale  of  hurdle  breast-works  and  sand- 
bags was  complete. 

Then  he  laid  his  plan  before  the  Council;  and  natur- 
ally, it  was  approved.  Mindful,  also,  of  the  prejudices 
of  the  rank  and  file,  he  performed  the  old  Turkhi  cere- 
mony of  the  "vim''  or  full  dress  review,  at  which,  as 
General,  he  had  to  estimate  the  total  number  of  men  at 
his  command. 

"  The  most  revered  father  was  out  by  a  good  thousand 
or  two,  to-day,*'  said  Humayon,  who,  arrayed  in  gorgeous 
trappings,  looked  a  hero  after  a  woman's  heart.  "  He 
was  wont  to  be  more  accurate." 

Babar  smiled  gaily.  "  A  thousand  or  two  to  the  good 
is  better  than  to  the  bad,  when  men's  hearts  fail  them," 
he  replied.  ''  And  some,  see  you,  are  in  great  terror  and 
alarm.  For  sure,  trepidation  and  fear  are  always  unbe- 
coming, since  what  God  Almighty  has  decreed,  men  can- 
not alter.  Still  I  blame  them  not  greatly.  Of  a  truth 
they  have  reason.  They  have  come  a  four-months' 
journey  from  their  own  country;  they  have  to  engage 
an  enemy  over  an  hundred  thousand  strong;  and  worse 
than  all,  a  strange  enemy,  understanding  not  even  their 
language,  poor  souls !  " 

He  was  full  of  commiseration;  for  all  that  he  abated 
not  one  jot  or  tittle  of  his  plan,  and  his  very  firmness 
brought  a  measure  of  confidence  even  to  the  timid. 

The  little  town  of  Paniput  reached,  Babar  took  up  his 
position  there,  the  city  and  suburbs  protecting  his  right. 
The  left  he  entrenched,  leaving  the  centre  free  for  his 
laager  of  guns  and  breastworks,  behind  which  stood  the 
matchlock  men.  But  at  every  bow-shot  distance  apart, 
a  space  was  left  through  which  flanking  parties  of  cavalry 
might  issue  forth  to  charge.  When  all  was  ready  the 
army  began  to  feel  more  secure,  and  more  than  one 


KING-ERRANT  271 

general  ventured  the  opinion  that  with  a  position 
so  well  fortified,  the  enemy  would  think  twice  about 
attacking. 

But  Babar  shook  his  head.  "  Consider  not,"  he  said, 
"  of  our  present  enemy  as  of  our  past  ones.  Judge  not 
of  Ibrahim-Sultan,  as  of  our  Princes  and  Khans  in  the 
north  who  knew  what  they  were  about,  who  could  dis- 
criminate when  to  advance,  when  to  retreat.  This 
young  man  has  shown  himself  of  no  experience. 
Already  I  find  him  negligent  in  movement.  He  marches 
without  order,  he  halts  without  plan,  and  will  doubtless 
engage  in  battle  without  forethought :  therefore  we  must 
be  prepared. '* 

It  was  an  anxious  time,  that  wait  of  six  days  for  as- 
sault, but,  despite  the  skirmishing  attempts  made  by 
small  parties  of  cavalry  to  induce  the  enemy  to  engage, 
nothing  happened.  A  night  attack  carried  out  against 
Babar's  own  judgment,  fared  no  better;  but,  mercifully, 
it  ended  without  the  loss  of  a  single  man,  though  one 
bold  soldier  —  a  boon  companion  of  the  Emperor's  — 
was  wounded. 

That  day  at  sunset  there  was  a  false  alarm,  and  the 
army  was  drawn  up  ready  for  action;  only,  however,  to 
be  drawn  oflf  again  and  led  back  to  camp.  Again  about 
midnight,  the  call-to-arms  uprose,  and  for  half-an-hour 
all  was  confusion  and  dismay,  many  of  the  troops  being 
new  to  the  work,  and  unaccustomed  to  such  alarms. 

"  Lo !  it  will  steady  their  nerves,"  said  Babar  lightly, 
with  another  gay  smile,  "  and  by  God  who  made  me ! 
even  mine  are  somewhat  agee  this  night.  Go!  saddle 
me  Rakush,  slave!  I  am  for  a  ride  round  for  an  hour 
or  so." 

A  minute  or  two  later  he  was  on  his  favourite 
charger  pacing  his  way  silently  over  what  would  be  the 
battle-field.    And  as  he  passed  on,  his  horse's  feet  sink- 


272  KING-ERRANT 

ing  in  the  thirsty  sand,  or  echoing  on  the  hard  lime-stone 
soil,  his  mind  was  busy  over  the  chances  of  the  future. 
He  meant  to  win;  but  many  a  man  whose  bones  lay 
buried  beneath  that  useless  waste  —  useless  for  all  save 
battle  —  had  had  as  high  a  hope  as  his,  as  steady  a  de- 
termination. 

How  many  thousands  —  nay!  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  hopes  had  not  that  vast  sterile  plain  of  Paniput  ended 
for  ever  ?  The  common  folk  told  him  that  on  dark  nights 
you  could  hear,  rising  from  the  ground,  the  voices  of 
the  dead  men  below,  the  clash  of  arms,  the  noise  of 
fight.  Mayhap  it  was  so.  Mayhap  all  the  sounds  of 
life  went  on,  and  on,  and  on.  Tears,  love,  peace,  war, 
life,  death ;  all  were  the  same  in  the  end.  All  were  part 
of  that  Great  Whole  which  somehow,  always  managed 
to  escape  before  you  could  grip  at  it. 

He  reined  up  his  horse  to  listen ;  but  only  the  familiar 
sound  of  the  night  came  to  his  ear.  The  distant  and 
persistent  baying  of  a  dog,  the  booming  whirr  of  some 
night  insect  as  it  flew  unseen,  the  faint  rustle  of  a  dawn 
wind  over  the  sand. 

It  was  time  he  were  going  back  to  work ;  back  to  face 
what  the  day  might  bring  forth. 

It  brought  what  he  awaited.  When  the  light  was  such 
that  one  object  could  just  be  distinguished  from  another, 
patrols  galloped  in;  the  enemy  were  advancing  in  order 
of  battle. 

There  was  no  confusion  this  time.  "Use  doth  breed 
a  habit  in  a  man,"  was  wisdom  known  to  the  Emperor. 
So,  swiftly,  each  fell  to  his  proper  place,  the  flanking 
parties  on  the  left  ready  with  instructions,  so  soon  as 
the  enemy  was  in  touch,  to  make  a  circuit  and  take  them 
in  the  rear.  Babar  himself  took  his  post  on  a  slight 
eminence.  He  knew  that  with  such  overwhelming  odds 
against  him  all  depended  on  the  handling  of  his  men,  so 


KING-ERRANT  273 

there  must  be  no  fine  fighting  for  him.  That  was  not 
his  work. 

His  keen  eyes  watched  the  oncoming  line  of  the  en- 
emy. It  was  bent  to  the  right  and  the  order  came  im- 
mediately— "Reinforcements  from  the  reserve  in  sup- 
port." Had  he  been  a  modern-day  Staff-College  man, 
the  martial  phrase  could  not  have  come  more  correctly! 

And  he  noticed  another  thing.  The  enemy  had  not 
expected  to  find  such  strong  defences.  They  were  com- 
ing along  almost  at  the  double;  yet  the  front  rank  hesi- 
tated, almost  halted.  This  was  the  psychical  moment. 
Intensify  this  hesitation,  and  the  ranks  behind  would  be 
thrown  into  confusion.  *'  Right  and  Left  divisions 
charge!  And  bid  the  flanking  parties  use  all  possible 
speed,''  came  the  swift  order.  In  a  few  minutes  both 
Left  and  Right  were  engaged  and  the  wheeling  horse- 
men icould  be  seen  coming  round  to  the  rear.  Those 
overwhelming  numbers  told,  however;  the  Left,  too  im- 
petuous, wavered  visibly;  but  Babar's  keen  eye  saw  it. 
To  send  support  from  the  main  body  needed  but  a  few 
words.  So,  attacked  on  right  and  left,  with  the 
flanking  parties  harassing  the  rear,  the  huge  army  was 
driven  in  on  itself,  and,  huddled  together,  fell  into  con- 
fusion, unable  either  to  advance  or  retreat.  Then  came 
the  final  order  to  the  Centre  "  Engage ! "  and  the  fight 
was  virtually  won.  After  all,  the  artillery  had  little  to  do 
beyond  a  few  discharges  in  front  of  the  line  to  good 
purpose. 

The  sun  had  mounted  spear-high  when  the  onset  of  bat- 
tle began,  but  by  midday  the  enemy  was  completely  broken 
and  routed,  and  Babar's  troops  victorious  and  exulting. 
The  arduous  undertaking  had  been  made  easy,  and  a 
mighty  army  in  the  space  of  half-a-day  laid  in  the  dust. 
It  seemed  incredible.  Babar  remaining  behind  while  he 
despatched  parties  of  pursuit,  rode,  somewhat  sad-eyed. 


274  KING-ERRANT 

over  the  battle-field.  Here  had  been  a  fine  stand !  Five 
or  six  thousand  dead  bodies  piled  one  upon  another. 
Well !  those  had  been  brave  men,  dying  for  some  cause, 
some  point  of  honour.  It  was  not  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon that  the  cause,  the  point  of  honour,  was  made 
apparent.  Ibrahim,  their  King's  dead  body  was  found 
in  their  midst.  One  Tahir  found  it,  cut  oflf  the  head, 
and  brought  it  into  the  Headquarters'  tent. 

"  Slave !  Why  didst  do  that  ?  He  was  at  least  King 
to  those  poor  souls.  Take  it  back,"  said  Babar  sternly, 
then  went  on  with  his  work.  Humayon,  Kwajah-Kilan 
and  several  more  of  the  best  officers,  with  a  light  body 
of  troops  were  despatched  in  utmost  haste  to  occupy 
Agra,  ere  it  had  time  to  hear  of  the  victory,  and  a 
smaller  force  to  march  without  halt  to  Delhi  and  seize 
the  Fort  and  treasuries.  For  Babar,  with  his  small 
army,  could  not  afford  to  give  time  for  rally.  This  done 
he  and  his  staff  rode  through  the  enemy's  deserted  lines, 
and  visited  the  dead  leaders'  pavilions  and  accommoda- 
tions. 

"  They  had  best  bring  the  dead  fool's  body  here,"  said 
Babar  briefly,  "  and  bid  the  men  not  touch  the  tent.  Stay ! 
set  a  watch  on  it  till  his  friends  come,  as  they  will,  likely, 
at  nightfall." 

It  was  a  kindly  thought,  but  in  a  way  it  was  unwise; 
for  the  Afghans  of  Delhi,  seeing  their  cause  lost,  kept 
alive  their  hatred  of  the  northern  invader  by  raising 
miserable  Ibrahim  to  martyr  rank,  and  making  pilgrim- 
ages to  his  grave. 

But  Babar  was  never  clear-sighted  in  this  world*s 
ways;  he  did  most  things  by  impulse  and  it  was  Heav- 
en's grace  that  such  impulses  generally  led  him  aright. 

Three  days  after  this  Zahir-ud-din  Mahomed  Babar 
was  proclaimed  Emperor  of  India  in  the  mosque  of 
Delhi,  but  the  conqueror  himself  did  not  go  into  the 


KING-ERRANT  275 

City.  He  preferred  to  remain  with  his  army  encamped 
by  the  Kutb-Minar  among  the  relics  of  dead  Kings, 
feasting  his  eyes  on  the  strange  new  beauty  of  carven 
stone  and  straight  architrave.  He  would  not  have 
thought  it  possible  to  get  so  majestic  a  building  without 
the  use  of  the  arch. 

But  the  Kutb-Minar!  Babar  found  himself  looking 
at  it  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  It  fascinated 
him.  That  marvellous  shaft  of  stone  so  deftly  modulated 
in  tint,  from  its  purplish  red  base,  through  pale  rose- 
pink  to  vivid  orange,  as,  spurning  the  world,  it  shoots 
into  the  blue  sky,  filled  him  with  glad  amaze.  How  and 
why  and  in  what  quality  did  it  surpass  all  other  buildings 
he  had  ever  seen?  Was  it  because,  as  folks  said,  its  pro- 
portions were  correct,  or  was  there  in  it  the  secret  of 
all  true  art  ?  Babar  knew  his  history  well ;  he  knew  it 
was  but  three  hundred  years  since,  by  order  of  Eibuk 
the  slave,  that  column  had  been  built  by  the  Hindu  archi- 
tects who  had  to  work  with  the  material  of  their  own 
desecrated  and  destroyed  temples. 

The  temptation  to  revenge,  to  follow  the  destruc- 
tion of  religion  by  that  of  art,  must  have  been  great; 
but  these  men  had  been  true  artists.  To  them  Self  was 
nothing.  They  chiselled,  they  cut,  they  planned,  per- 
fection before  their  eyes.  And  they  had  touched  close 
upon  it;  so  their  work  remained,  almost  as  it  had  left 
their  hands,  undimmed  by  Time,  a  record  of  Selfless- 
ness. 

Babar  could  feel  this  vaguely,  could  spend  half  the 
night  circumambulating  the  tombs  of  the  Saints;  could 
climb  the  dizzy  stair  at  dusk  to  see  Canopus  flicker  into 
light  on  the  purpling  heavens,  and  bring  memories  of 
the  past  with  it.  He  could  even  come  down  again, 
full  of  kindly  thoughts  for  the  womenkind  at  Kabul 
and  write  long  letters  to  his  paternal  aunts  telling  them 


276  KING-ERRANT 

how  splendid  their  grand  nephew  looked  at  the  head 
of  his  troops,  and  how  the  army  had  taken  to  calling 
him,  Babar,  "  Kalendar  *  -King,"  because  he  gave  away 
all  his  own  chances  of  plunder. 

"  Nathless/'  he  wrote,  "  I  am  keeping  certain  pres- 
ents for  my  aunts  and  cousins,  which  shall  be  sent  when 
opportunity  offers." 

But,  almost  before  the  ink  of  such  effusions  was  dry, 
he  would  be  out  on  an  awning-covered  boat  slipping 
down  the  sliding  moonlit  river,  trailing  his  hand  in  the 
water  while  his  brain  grew  dizzy  with  wine  or  drugs. 

For  danger  was  past  at  present ;  he  could  afford  to  get 
drunk. 

And  he  did.  The  journey  down  to  Agra,  where 
Humayon  had  done  his  part  well,  and  had,  in  addition, 
quelled  a  Rajput  rebel  to  the  West,  was  more  like  a 
pleasure-party  than  a  march  of  war.  Babar  enjoyed  it 
immensely,  and  his  eyes  were  everywhere,  noting  each 
strange  bird  and  beast,  and  flower.  He  even  began  to 
write  down  his  impressions  concerning  his  new  king- 
dom. 

Perhaps  because  by  now  —  the  end  of  April  —  the  hot 
weather  had  begun  to  set  in,  his  verdict  was  distinctly 
unfavourable.  The  whole  country,  and  especially  the 
towns,  were  in  his  opinion  extremely  ugly.  The  latter 
had  a  uniform  ugliness  which  was  dispiriting.  Then  the 
gardens  were  poor  and  without  wells.  The  excessive 
levelness  of  the  plain,  also,  was  monotonous. 

On  the  other  hand  the  fruits  were  distinctly  worthy 
of  notice,  though  how  anyone  could  eat  a  jack-fruit  was 
beyond  comprehension.  It  smelt  horribly,  it  looked  like 
a  sheep's  stomach  stuffed  and  made  into  a  haggis,  and 
its  taste  was  sickly  sweet. 

He  was  disappointed  also  in  the  mango,  and  could  only 

*Kalendars  are  men  vowed  to  poverty. 


KING-ERRANT  277 

damn  it  with  faint  praise  by  saying  that  ""  such  mangoes 
as  are  good  are  excellent/' 

The  Gazetteer,  however,  had  to  be  finished  another 
time,  for  Agra  was  reached,  bringing  more  urgent  work. 
His  first  view  of  the  place  he  meant  to  make  his  capital 
was  disappointing  in  the  extreme.  It  was  the  loth  of 
May  and  a  dust  storm  was  raging.  None  who  have  not 
endured  one  in  Northern  India  can  have  any  idea  of  the 
discomfort  these  electrical  disturbances  bring  with  them. 
The  air,  hot  and  heavy,  seems  to  parch  the  skin ;  a  shim- 
mer, bringing  dizziness  to  the  brain,  lies  between  the 
eyes  and  all  things.  Then,  suddenly,  a  puflf,  as  of  smoke, 
drifts  past.  The  sky  reddens,  lowers.  A  low,  moaning 
sound  as  of  coming  wind  is  heard;  and  then,  with  a 
furious  gust,  it  is  there.  For  an  instant  or  two,  the 
trees  bending,  shivering  in  the  storm,  show  like  spectres ; 
the  next  all  things  are  blotted  out  by  the  dancing,  rag- 
ing, stinging  sand-atoms  which  leap  into  the  air  and 
positively  fray  the  skin  as  they  sweep  past,  driven  helter- 
skelter  by  the  gale.  Then  a  drop  or  two  of  dry  rain 
falls,  perhaps  a  little  more,  and  after  half-an-hour  or 
so,  the  weary  traveller  who  has  sought  shelter  behind 
the  first  bush,  or  in  the  first  hollow,  can  go  on  his  way. 

Such  a  storm  was  at  its  height  when  Babar  entered  the 
palace  of  his  predecessor.  But  he  bore  it  with  singular 
composure.  India  had  been  to  him  for  years  a  Land- 
of-Dreams,  and  he  meant  to  stay  there,  despite  dust. 
But  his  nobles  spat  the  sand  out  of  their  mouths  and 
reviled  all  things  Indian,  until  Humayon  in  full  durbar, 
pulled  out  the  great  Moghul  diamond  which  had  been 
given  him  voluntarily  by  the  Rajah's  people  of  Gwalior 
in  gratitude  for  saving  their  lives  and  property  from  his 
soldiery ;  for  Humayon,  so  long  as  he  served  his  father, 
followed  in  his  footsteps  of  humanity. 

He  laid  it  on  a  cushion  of  orange  satin  embroidered 


278  KING-ERRANT 

in  silver,  and  handed  it  to  his  father.  Not  so  brilliant 
doubtless  then  as  it  is  now  when  it  shines  as  the  Koh-i- 
noor,  it  was  still  a  marvel,  and  the  northern  nobles 
crowded  round  it  in  wondering  delight.  In  value  it 
must  have  been  equal  to  half  the  daily  expense  of  the 
whole  world ;  enough  therefore  to  pay  for  many  discom- 
forts and  disagreeables. 

But  Babar*s  eyes  scarce  brightened. 

"  'Tis  more  suitable  to  the  young  than  to  the  old,  son- 
ling,"  he  said  affectionately.  "  Take  it  back,  Humayon, 
and  give  it  to  thy  wife  —  when  thou  hast  one!  Thy 
mother  —  may  her  life  be  happy  —  cares  not  for  jewels: 
nor  in  truth  do  I.    A  rose  is  better  than  a  ruby.'' 

And  that  night  when  he  had  settled  some  affairs  of 
state,  and  pardoned  a  few  Hindustani  nobles  who  had 
resisted  his  advance,  he  set  to  work  upon  a  rubai  on  that 
fancy ;  but  he  was  in  too  didactic  a  mood  for  poetry. 
He  felt  that  he  had  done  everything  that  had  been  re- 
quired of  him;  so  he  wrote  in  his  diary  instead  — 

"  In  consideration  of  my  confidence  in  Divine  Aid,  the 
Most-High  did  not  suffer  the  distress  and  hardship  of 
my  life  to  be  thrown  away;  but  defeated  my  most  for- 
midable enemy  and  made  me  conqueror  of  the  noble 
country  of  Hindustan "  (this  adjective  was  the  result 
of  some  thought,  for  Babar  was  nothing  if  not  truth- 
ful)— "This  success  I  do  not  ascribe  to  my  own 
strength,  nor  did  this  good  fortune  flow  from  my  own 
efforts,  but  from  the  fountain  of  the  favour  and  mercy 
of  the  Most-High.'' 

After  which  he  took  an  aromatic  opiate  confection 
and  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  III 

"Give  me  back  one  hour  of  Kabul! 
Let  me  see  it  ere  I  die. 
Ah!  my  heart  is  sick  and  heavy; 
Southern  gales  are  not  for  me, 
Though  the  hills  are  white  with  winter; 
Place  me  there  and  set  me  free." 

So  in  anticipation  of  Prince  Charles  at  Versailles 
might  Babar  have  said  as  he  stood  disconsolate  on 
the  banks  of  the  river  Jumna  at  Agra.  He  had  started 
at  dawn,  full  of  high  hope  to  find  some  place  where  he 
could  lay  out  an  elegant  and  well-planned  pleasure-gar- 
den, and  lo!  the  whole  country  side  was  so  ugly  and 
detestable,  that  for  the  moment  he  felt  inclined  to  fall 
in  with  his  courtiers'  advice  to  leave  India  to  stew  in  its 
own  juice.  There  was  no  denying  that  as  a  country  it 
had  few  pleasures  to  recommend  it.  To  begin  with,  the 
people  were  not  handsome.  Then  they  had  no  idea  of 
the  charms  of  friendly  society,  of  frankly  mixing  to- 
gether, or  of  familiar  intercourse.  They  had  little  com- 
prehension of  mind,  no  politeness  of  manner,  no  fellow 
feeling.  Then  they  had  no  good  horses,  no  good  flesh, 
no  grapes  or  musk  melons,  no  ice  or  cold  water,  no  good 
food  or  bread  in  their  bazaars,  no  baths,  or  colleges,  no 
candles  —  not  even  a  candlestick! 

Why!  Even  if  their  Emperors  or  chief  nobility  had 
occasion  for  a  light,  they  had  to  send  for  dirty,  filthy 
men  called  "  Lighters,"  who  held  an  iron  tripod  — 
smelling  horribly  and  dripping  rancid  oil  —  close  under 
their  masters'  noses! 

Pah!     It  was  disgusting! 

279 


280  KING-ERRANT 

For  a  wonder  Babar  was  in  a  real  evil  temper.  He 
could  scarcely  remember  having  felt  so  irritable  before; 
except  that  once,  when  he  had  been  trying  to  mount  a 
fidgety  Biluch  mare  and  had  struck  her  in  his  impa- 
tience with  his  half-closed  fist  and  had  thereby  dislo- 
cated his  thumb,  which  had  troubled  him  for  months;  a 
just  punishment  for  losing  his  temper  with  a  dumb  ani- 
mal which  knew  no  better. 

Besides,  that  time,  he  had  been  half-drunk.  But 
now?    .     .     . 

He  felt  inclined  to  cry.  A  state  of  mind  in  which 
this  man  of  the  West  and  North  has  the  sympathy  of 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  others;  since  there  is 
scarce  an  Anglo-Indian  who  has  not  felt  the  same  on 
hot,  breathless  May  mornings  when  the  dull  eyes,  seek- 
ing for  some  object  on  which  to  rest,  find  none,  save  a 
wide  waste  of  sand,  an  indeterminate  kikar  tree,  and  an 
aggressive  crow  bent  on  showing  you  that  he  is  as  black 
inside  as  he  is  outside. 

"  The  Most-Clement  will  forget  the  unloveliness  when 
he  stands  once  more  in  the  Garden-of-Fidelity,"  re- 
marked Kwajah-Kilan  with  intent;  and  Babar  actually 
scowled  at  him.  Yet  he  had  not  the  heart  to  say  in  so 
many  words  that  he  had  no  intention  of  returning  to 
that  Garden-of -Fidelity.  The  very  thought  of  its  beauty 
made  him  feel  sick ;  but  there  was  duty  as  well  as  beauty 
to  be  considered. 

And  here  again  he  has  the  sympathy  of  how  many 
thousand  western  workers  in  Hindustan?  In  truth 
Babar  should  be  the  patron  saint  of  the  Indian  Services ! 

But  all  things  were  against  him  that  year.  The  very 
heat  was  uncommonly  oppressive;  men  dropped  down  as 
if  they  had  been  affected  by  the  simoon  wind,  and  died 
upon  the  spot.  Then  there  was  always  dislike  and  hos- 
tility between  the  new  comers  and  the  people,  and  it  was 


KING-ERRANT  281 

difficult  to  find  grain,  or  provender.  The  roads,  too, 
became  impassable,  and  the  villagers,  out  of  hatred  and 
spite,  took  to  thieving  and  robbery.  Yet  in  such  a  fur- 
nace how  was  it  possible  to  send  out  proper  protection 
to  the  districts? 

Still  Babar  set  his  teeth  and  stuck  to  the  saddle. 

"  What !  thou  also  ?  ''  he  said  reproachfully  to  Kwajah- 
Kilan  when  in  the  privacy  of  the  small  Audience-Cham- 
ber, the  latter  urged  the  wisdom  of  doing  as  all  the  past 
conquerors  of  India  had  done;  that  is  leaving  so  soon 
as  the  treasures  had  been  divided.  "And  I  [counted 
thee  my  best  friend." 

'*  The  Most-Clement  knows  I  am  that,"  protested  the 
Kwajah,  stoutly.  "  That  is  why  I  urge  immediate  de- 
parture. The  men  lose  heart.  The  Badakhshanis 
never  engage  for  more  than  three  months'  fighting,  and 
they  have  stood  sixteen.     They  were  promised  leave — " 

Babar  broke  in  impatiently.  **  Then  let  them  go ! 
They  are  but  mercenaries;  not  gentlemen  of  honour." 

Kwajah-Kilan  flushed  up.  "  I  have  ever  been  gal- 
lant man,  sire;  but  I  see  no  use  in  stopping  to  die  of 
ghastly  ailments.  There  is  a  black  death  they  call  chol- 
era which  I  like  not." 

So  he  went  on  again,  and  again. 

And  this  was  but  the  beginning  of  many  similar  ob- 
jections, not  only  by  the  older  Begs  and  men  of  expe- 
rience. Had  that  been  so,  there  would  have  been  no 
harm  in  it.  But  what  sense  or  propriety  was  there  in 
all  the  world  eternally  repeating  the  same  tale,  in  differ- 
ent words,  to  one  who  himself  saw  the  facts  with 
his  own  eyes,  and  had  formed  a  cool  and  fixed  resolu- 
tion in  regard  to  the  business  in  which  he  was  engaged? 
For  Babar  meant  not  only  to  conquer  India,  but  to  be 
its  Emperor.  He  meant,  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
vivid  vitality,  to  found  a  dynasty ;  he  meant  that  his  son 


282  KING-ERRANT 

and  his  son's  sons  should  inherit  what  he  had  won  for 
them.  What  propriety,  therefore,  was  there  in  the 
whole  army,  down  to  the  very  dregs,  giving  their  stupid 
and  unformed  opinion  on  a  matter  which  they  were  not 
capable  of  judging?  It  was  bad  enough  that  men  whom 
he  had  raised  from  low  rank  to  the  dignity  of  nobles 
in  the  expectation  that  if  he  had  chosen  to  go  through 
fire  or  water  they  would  follow  him  backward  and  for- 
ward without  hesitation,  should  dare  to  arraign  his 
measures,  and  show  determined  opposition  to  his  plans 
and  opinions ! 

He  did  not  stand  their  disloyalty  for  many  days.  A 
Council  was  called  of  all  nobles  of  whatever  rank,  and 
they  came  to  it  sheepishly  yet  stubbornly,  full  of  admira- 
tion still  for  their  chief,  yet  determined  not  to  yield. 

It  was  a  grilling  afternoon.  The  Audience-Hall  lit- 
erally throbbed  with  heat,  and  more  than  one  man  loos- 
ened the  collar  at  his  throat  and  gasped  as  they  waited 
for  the  Emperor.  They  had  expected  him  to  enter  in 
state;  but  there  he  was  on  the  platform  of  the  throne,  a 
plain  man  like  themselves.  Despite  the  heat,  he  wore 
chain-mail  and  helmet,  and  his  hand  was  on  his  sword. 
Plain  soldier,  indeed ;  but  there  was  that  in  his  face  and 
mien  which  marked  him  out  apart,  though,  as  he  stood, 
he  shivered  visibly  and  as  he  began  to  speak  his  teeth 
chattered.  For  Babar  was  in  grips  with  his  first  taste 
of  Indian  fever,  and  the  ague-fit  was  on  him  sharply. 
But  even  as  he  stood  there  shivering  and  shaking,  it 
passed,  and  with  a  wild  rush  the  hot  stage  sent  an  un- 
canny light  to  his  eyes,  and  made  the  words  leap  to  his 
blue  lips. 

"  Gentlemen  and  Soldiers !  Empire  cannot  be 
achieved  without  the  materials  and  means  of  war.  Roy- 
alty and  nobility  exist  by  subjection,  and  subjects  by 
obedience.     After    long    years,    after    great    hardships, 


KING-ERRANT  283 

measuring  many  a  toilsome  journey,  many  a  danger, 
after  exposing  ourselves  to  battle  and  bloodshed,  our 
formidable  enemy  has  been  routed.  We  have  achieved 
the  end;  we  are  masters  of  India.  And  now,  without 
visible  cause,  after  having  worn  out  our  very  lives  in 
this  emprise,  are  we  to  abandon  what  we  have  gained? 
A  mighty  enemy  has  been  overcome,  a  rich  kingdom  is 
at  our  feet.  Are  we,  having  won  the  game,  to  retreat 
to  Kabul,  like  men  who  have  lost  and  are  discomfited? 
No!  I  say!     A  thousand  times  no! — " 

The  fever,  swift  to  flare  up,  had  fair  hold  of  him  now 
and  his  words  seemed  to  whip  like  scorpions  — 

"  Let  no  man  who  calls  himself  Babar's  friend  ever 
dare  to  moot  the  very  idea  again.  But  if  there  be  one 
amongst  you  who  cannot  summon  up  courage  to  stay  — 
let  him  go.     I  want  him  not." 

There  was  silence,  but  no  one  stirred.  They  had  not 
the  courage  for  that  at  any  rate. 

So  Babar  went  back  to  his  bed,  his  blood  pulsing  in 
every  vein,  his  head  bursting,  until  the  hot  stage  passed 
into  the  sweating  stage,  and  he  sat  up  weakly,  half- 
laughing,  half -crying. 

"Lo!  I  felt  like  a  God,"  he  said.  "A  God  with  a 
pain  everywhere.     Did  I  say  enough  ?  " 

"  Too  much  for  me,  Most-Clement,"  quoth  Ali-Jan 
with  a  smile.     "  I  stop  till  death." 

And  most  of  the  hearers  had  come  to  the  same  deci- 
sion. Only  Kwajah-Kilan,  obstinate  as  a  mule,  refused 
to  remain.  So,  as  he  had  a  fairly  numerous  retinue,  it 
was  arranged  that  he  should  return  to  Kabul  in  charge 
of  the  presents  Babar  was  sending  home. 

And  this,  with  the  necessary  thought  it  entailed  lest 
any  should  be  disappointed,  proved  a  welcome  distrac- 
tion for  the  Emperor,  who  in  good  sooth,  what  with  re- 
curring attacks  of  fever  and  general  malaise  due  to  the 


284  KING-ERRANT 

climate,  needed  something  to  keep  up  his  spirits  in  the 
long,  weary,  hot  days  and  nights,  during  which  military 
operations  were  perforce  at  a  standstill.  And  Babar 
was  in  his  element  choosing  this  and  that,  apportioning 
presents  with  all  the  fervour  of  a  child  at  Christmas. 
No  doubt  his  heart  ached  the  while  he  wrote  instruc- 
tions for  a  regular  gala  to  be  held  in  the  Four-corner 
Garden,  and  he  must  have  felt  life  flat  indeed  when 
Kwajah-Kilan  had  set  out  northwards.  A  certain  in- 
terest of  anger,  however,  re-awoke,  when  a  friend  re- 
turning from  escort-duty  to  the  party  as  far  as  Delhi, 
told  him,  with  ill  concealed  smiles,  that  ere  leaving  the 
Fort  there  Kwajah-Kilan  had  scribbled  on  one  of  its 
walls  — 

"  If  safe  and  sound  I  cross  the  Sind, 
Damned  if  I  ever  wish  for  Hind." 

Babar's  cheek  flushed  dark  red  when  he  heard  this 
jeu  d'esprif, 

"  As  his  Emperor  still  remains  in  Hindustan,"  he  said 
with  hurt  pomp,  *' there  is  evident  impropriety,  first  in 
composing,  and  then  in  publishing  such  vituperative 
verse;  and  so  I  will  tell  him.'' 

Which  he  did,  by  sending  after  him  post  haste  an 
urgent  messenger  with  his  reply  — 

"  Babar  thanks  God  who  gave  him  Sind  and  Iiid, 
Heat  of  the  plains,  chill  of  the  mountain  cold. 
Yea !  let  the  scorch  of  India  bring  to  his  mind 
Bitter  bite  of  frost  in  Ghazni  of  old." 

The  touch  about  Ghazni  was,  he  thought,  peculiarly 
happy,  since  he  had  appointed  Kwajah-Kilan  Governor 
of  that  province!  And  ere  the  excitement  of  this  pas- 
sage of  wits  had  died  down  to  dulness,  another  touch 
had  come  to  set  the  Wheel-of-Life  spinning  once  more 


KING-ERRANT  285 

at  full  speed.  One  of  Maham's  charming,  cheery  let- 
ters brought  most  unexpected  news.  After  some  years, 
on  the  very  verge  in  fact  of  her  woman's  life,  she  was 
again  expecting  to  be  a  mother.  "  And  I  pray  it  may 
be  a  boy,"  she  wrote,  "  for  though  Hindal,  the  son 
whom  my  lord  gave  so  generously  to  my  empty  arms, 
is  very,  very  dear  to  me,  my  heart  leaps  at  the  very 
thought  of  one  who  shall  be  my  lord's  and  mine  also." 

Babar  was  overwhelmed  with  delight  and  anxiety. 
Even  by  special  runner  it  took  weeks  for  a  letter  to 
reach  Kabul,  so  Maham,  he  knew,  must  be  near  her  time 
ere  his  warnings,  his  happy  hopes,  his  loving  afifection 
could  reach  her.  But  he  wrote  off  in  hot  haste,  begging 
her  to  rely  on  Dearest-One  for  all  things,  entreating  her 
to  behave  in  all  ways  as  if  he  were  at  hand.  **  And 
thou  knowest,  dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  what  I  would  be 
like  were  I  in  Kabul  now.  Verily,  my  moon,  who  hast 
so  often  chidden  me  for  fretting  wide-eyed  the  livelong 
night  because  Humayon  or  Gulbadan  or  one  of  the 
others  had  a  stomach-ache,  I  should  be  past  bearing. 
But  when  I  think  of  what  has  happened  and  what  might 
happen,  I  would  mount  Rakush  and  ride  Kabul-wards, 
were  it  not  for  some  small  good  sense,  and  these  pitiful 
folk  who  would  deem  me  traitor  to  myself. 

"  Lo,  we  will  call  him  Faruk,  wife,  since  distance  sep- 
arates us." 

After  this  he  set  to  work  upon  his  abandoned  plan 
of  a  pleasure  garden.  Beggars,  he  said  to  Ali-Jan,  must 
not  be  choosers.  If  there  was  no  better  spot  than  the 
plain  over  the  river,  he  must  e'en  make  the  best  of  it. 
And  the  first  thing  to  do  was  to  sink  a  well ;  the  next 
to  plant  roses  and  narcissus  in  corresponding  beds. 

The  third  thing  was  to  hold  a  drinking  party  upon  the 
spot  close  to  the  river,  and  make  the  place  as  pretty  as 
it  could  be  made  with  coloured  lights  and  illuminations. 


286  KING-ERRANT 

garlands  of  flowers  and  palms  cut  off  wholesale  and 
planted  in  the  ground.  It  seemed  a  pity  to  destroy  the 
trees;  but  that  was  Hindustan  fashion.  Everything  for 
show  at  the  moment;  no  thought  for  the  future.  Still 
it  was  well  done,  and  the  Indian  jugglers  performed 
some  fine  feats. 

The  rains  had  by  this  time  set  in  and  the  air  was 
singularly  delightful,  though  rather  moist  and  damp. 
It  was,  for  instance,  impossible  to  shoot  with  the  Kabul 
bow  which  is  pieced  with  glue;  and  everything,  coats- 
of-mail,  clothes,  furniture,  became  mildewed.  Even 
books  —  and  Babar  was  avid  concerning  books  —  suf- 
fered, and  the  flat  mud  roofs  leaked.  Still,  life  was 
more  enjoyable  than  it  had  been,  and  jolly  Ali-Jan  when 
in  his  cups,  said  gravely  — 

"  The  chief  excellency  of  India  is  that  it  is  large,  and 
that  it  holds  plenty  of  gold  and  silver.'' 

They  were  a  fairly  merry  party,  these  northerners  in 
the  Fort  at  Agra;  merry,  good-natured,  insouciant,  and 
they  began  to  win  golden  opinions  for  themselves 
amongst  the  people,  thanks  to  the  Emperor's  strict  dis- 
cipline. Here  were  no  robbers,  but  gallant  men  ready 
to  drink,  or  love,  and  pay  for  both  like  honest  folk. 

And  their  leader  was  a  friendly  soul,  who  sent  as- 
surances of  safety  and  protection  to  all  who  voluntarily 
entered  into  his  service.  Then  he  was  a  fine  fellow  to 
look  at,  with  kindly  eyes  and  a  ready  smile;  active, 
vivacious.  Absolutely  unlike,  therefore,  the  solid,  sol- 
emn, stony-eyed,  lazy  voluptuary  which  for  hundreds  of 
years  had  been  India's  conception  of  a  king.  Here, 
honours  and  rewards  were  for  ever  being  bestowed,  and 
the  small  native  Princes  invariably  received  back  their 
lands,  after  they  had  made  their  obeisance.  So  what- 
ever the  northern  conqueror's  object  might  be,  it  was 
clearly  not  gold. 


KING-ERRANT  287 

That  in  itself  was  a  relief. 

Thus  the  long  months  sped  on,  bringing,  to  one  man 
at  least,  continued  effort.  Fever  had  laid  hold  of 
Babar;  without  his  dear  women-kind  he  felt  lost  and 
he  had  had  to  send  his  son  and  his  best  friend  out  with 
small  forces  to  settle  the  country.  Still  he  held  on  duti- 
fully, giving  feasts  to  his  people,  despite  the  rain  which 
more  than  once  drenched  them  through  to  the  skin.  As 
well  it  might,  seeing  that  it  rained  thirteen  times  on  one 
feast  day!  But  in  early  October  a  special  messenger 
arrived  from  Kabul  with  the  joyful  news  of  little 
Faruk's. birth.  And  the  same  post  brought  a  budget  of 
letters  written  before  the  event,  by  Maham  and  by  the 
paternal  aunts  and  cousins  to  the  fifth  degree,  describ- 
ing the  marvellous  festival  which  had  been  held  accord- 
ing to  order  in  the  Four-corner  Garden.  Everything 
had  been  done  exactly  as  His  Majesty  had  directed. 
Every  Begum  had  had  her  own  tent  and  screen  set  up 
with  all  due  luxury  in  the  garden;  it  had  been  lit  and 
beautifully  illuminated  at  night  and  all  the  best  singers 
and  dancers  of  Kabul  had  been  assembled  to  give  music. 
Never  had  been  such  a  merry  making!  Never  such  a 
circle  of  happy  faces  and  sparkling  jewels  in  the  sun- 
•  shine ;  for  the  day  had  been  brilliantly  fine. 

"  Then,"  wrote  Maham,  who  was  out  and  away  the 
best  scribe,  "  we  made  Kwajah-Kilan  read  out  the  in- 
structions given  him  so  that  we  might  hear  and  rejoice 
in  our  lord's  thought  for  us.  So  he  read  in  a  sonorous 
tone  not  so  sweet  as  my  lord's,  but  passable  — *  To  each 
Begum  is  to  be  delivered  as  follows :  one  special  dancing- 
girl  of  the  dancing  girls  of  Sultan-Ibrahim,  with  one 
gold  plate  full  of  jewels,  ruby,  and  pearl,  cornelian  and 
diamonds,  emerald  and  turquoise,  topaz  and  cat's  eyes, 
besides  two  small  mother-of-pearl  trays  full  of  golden 
coins.     Two  brazen  trays  shall  be  piled  with  silver  coins 


288  KING-ERRANT 

and  three  with  rich  stuffs  of  sorts,  so  that  there  be  nine 
in  each.  Another  dancing-girl,  a  plate  of  jewels,  and 
one  each  of  gold  and  silver  coins,  must  be  presented  to 
each  of  my  elder  relations.  And  have  a  care  that  each 
and  all  get  the  very  dancing-girl  and  the  very  plates  of 
jewels  that  I  have  chosen  myself  for  them.  So  let  jew- 
els, and  gold  coins,  and  silver  coins,  be  presented  to  all 
the  ladies  and  kinsmen  and  foster-brethren,  while  one 
silver  coin  is  to  be  given  (as  an  incentive  to  emulation) 
to  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  Kabul,  to  make  them 
remember  me,  and  pray  for  me.' 

"  And  even  so,  my  lord,  'twas  done,  though  it  needed 
not  money  to  make  Kabul  remember  its  beloved  King 
During  those  three  happy  days,  every  soul  was  uplifted 
with  pride,  and  recited  the  first  chapter  of  the  Blessed- 
Book  for  the  benediction  and  prosperity  of  his  Maj- 
esty, as  they  joyfully  made  the  prostration  of  thanks 
for  his  victories.  But  how  can  this  dust-like  one  con- 
vey her  thanks  for  the  special  gifts  so  graciously  given 
in  private  to  me  and  others.  Let  the  others  speak  for 
themselves.  I  sit  with  a  heart  full  of  gratitude  before 
that  heaped-up  tray,  knowing  not  where  to  set  my  first 
stone  of  thanks.  For,  lo!  the  superstructure  will  be  so 
heavy  that  it  must  have  good  foundation.  Lo!  there 
be  two  things  amid  the  many  quaint  conceits  of  Hindu- 
stan, the  many  rare  and  beautiful  gifts,  on  which  I  will 
rest  my  load  of  loving  gratitude.  First — (or  is  it  sec- 
ond? I  know  not)  the  dearest  little  dresses  fashioned 
after  the  manner  of  Indian  princelings  for  your  son,  so 
soon  to  be  born.  Believe  me,  my  lord,  I  wept  happy 
tears  over  them.  And  yet  methinks  the  book  in  my 
lord's  own  hand  —  it  hath  not  lost  its  cunning  —  giving 
me  the  verses  he  hath  composed  during  the  last  year 
is  sweeter,  more  dear.  The  father  comes,  see  you,  be- 
fore the  child.     Hindal  is  beside  himself  with  delight 


KING-ERRANT  289 

at  the  wooden  toys;  so  neat,  so  quaint,  so  clever! 
Truly  they  must  be  good  workmen  in  Hindustan.  So 
slight  they  are,  yet  do  they  please  the  little  ones  more 
than  gold.  And  Gulbadan  —  truly  she  is  a  rosebud 
now  —  hugs  her  doll  and  hath  taught  it  already  to  make 
the  respectful  salutation  to  Majesty  she  herself  hath 
lately  learnt.  So  we  are  all  smiles.  Nay!  it  was  more 
than  smiles  when  poor,  dear,  fat  Astonishing  Beauty 
Princess  sat,  the  tears  streaming  down  her  face,  nod- 
ding her  head  over  the  recitations,  while  the  tassel  of 
the  head-ornament  my  lord  sent  her,  dangled  over  her 
nose  like  a  yak's  tail  on  a  camel! 

'*  And  the  trick  on  old  Asas  came  off  beautifully,  even 
as  my  lord  arranged  it.  For  when  the  faithful  thing 
asked  Kwajah-Kilan,  *  What  has  my  lord  sent  me?' 
he  replied  with  truth,  '  One  gold  coin.'  So  the  old  man 
was  amazed,  and  disappointed,  and  fretted  about  it  and 
we  said  nothing.  So  then  at  last,  as  my  lord  had  com- 
manded, the  old  man  was  blindfolded  and  he  was  led 
into  our  apartments  to  receive  his  gift.  A  hole  had 
been  bored  (as  ordered)  in  the  gold  coin — (it  weighed 
nigh  six  pounds)  and  a  string  put  to  it.  So  it  was 
hung  round  his  neck.  My  lord  should  have  seen  him! 
He  was  quite  helpless  with  surprise  at  its  weight,  and 
delighted,  and  very,  very  happy.  He  took  it  in  both 
hands,  and  wondered  over  it  and  said,  '  No  one  shall 
get  it  —  no  one !  No  one ! '  Then  we  all  laughed  too 
and  gave  him  more  money,  so  he  was  fine  and  pleased. 

"Thus  all  went  well,  save  for  the  absence  of  my 
lord—" 

Babar  read  so  far,  stopping  at  times  for  a  laugh,  for 
a  pause  of  sheer  delight.  Now  he  let  slip  the  letter  and 
sat  awhile  staring  out  at  the  ugliness,  the  fremdness  of 
India. 

What  would  he  not  have  given  to  be  there?    To  see 


290  KING-ERRANT 

them  all!  To  see  the  blaze  of  July  blossom,  to  hear 
the  water  trickling  through  the  stone  runnels,  to  watch 
the  white  flocks  of  clouds  on  the  vast  meadows  of  sap- 
phire overhead     .     .     . 

The  thought  was  too  much  for  him.  His  eyes  filled 
with  tears ;  then  he  brushed  them  aside  with  the  order : 

"  Slave !    A  cup  of  wine !  " 

That  night  over  the  water,  where  strange  new  build- 
ings were  fast  rising  and  where  new-planted  flowers 
and  shrubs  were  thriving  so  fast  in  the  kindly  rains 
that  already  the  townspeople,  marvelling  at  the  growing 
beauty,  called  the  place  Kabul,  the  revels  were  fast  and 
furious,  and  Babar,  before  he  got  miserably  drunk, 
gained  loud  applause  for  a  song  he  had  just  translated 
from  the  Hindi.     It  ran  as  follows: 

"  Oh !    Watchman  of  night,  awake ! 
For  the  dawning  is  nigh; 
The  black  bees  hum  as  their  way  they  take 
Through  the  lightening  sky. 
Oh!  far  away  in  the  jasmine  bowers. 
The  robbers  will  rifle  the  honey-flowers. 
Watchman !  Awake !  Awake ! 

Oh,  watch  of  the  night,  arise! 

For  the  windows  unclose; 

A  blue  gown  hung  with  pearl-fringing  lies 

On  a  bosom  of  rose. 

Oh !  close  at  hand  in  the  old  man's  tower 

The  lovers  will  wanton  a  happy  hour. 

Watchman!  Arise!  Arise! 

Oh,  rouse  thee,  watchman,  rouse ! 

Lo !  the  rain  of  night  is  past ! 

Her  veil  is  dank,  'neath  her  level  brows 

The  heavy  tears  fall  fast. 

Oh,  far  away  lies  her  lovers  part 


KING-ERRANT  291 

And  close  at  hand  lies  her  broken  heart. 
Oh !  Watchman,  rouse  thee,  rouse !  " 

"  Tis  a  rare  song,"  hiccupped  Jan-Ali,  "  but  devil  take 
me  if  I  can  tell  what  it  means." 

"  'Tis  the  tale  of  a  wanton,"  quoth  Tardi-Beg  gravely, 
*'  and  see  you,  she  wore  a  blue  gown  fringed  with 
pearl." 

Babar  looked  at  them  both  with  irritation. 

"  Before  the  Lord ! "  he  said  almost  sharply,  "  I  know 
not  which  is  best;  understanding,  or  the  lack  of  it." 

Then  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  They  be  merry  devils  over  in  Kabul,"  quoth  a  surly- 
faced  cook  in  the  royal  kitchen.  "  Mayhap  they  may 
laugh  the  wrong  side  of  their  mouths  ere  long." 


CHAPTER  IV 

Fate  knocked  at  the  Door  of  Death, 
My  soul  in  her  hollow  hand. 
Angels  opened  it.    Lo!  God  saith. 
To  whom  gave  He  this  command? 
Take  him  back  to  the  Gates  of  Life 
And  set  his  feet  in  the  way 
So  he  and  his  children  and  his  wife 
Will  praise  my  mercy  alway. 

Bahar. 

The  oncoming  of  cooler  weather  brought  renewed 
activity  once  more.  So  far  Agra  was  almost  the  south- 
ern limit  of  Babar's  Empire.  Below  it,  and  to  east  and 
west,  the  Pagans  —  as  these  northern  Mahomedans 
called  the  Hindus  collectively  —  still  held  undisturbed 
sway.  In  truth  they  had  never  been  touched  by  in- 
vasion from  the  north;  the  marauders  had  generally 
turned  tail  and  fled  before  the  scorch  of  the  hot  weather 
ere  they  had  time  to  reach  and  harry  so  far  south. 
And  of  all  the  Pagans  the  one  most  to  be  feared  was 
Rana  Sanka,  the  Rajput  chief  of  Udaipur.  Sooner  or 
later  Babar  knew  there  must  be  a  trial  of  strength  be- 
tween them;  but  he  meant  to  put  it  off  as  long  as  he 
could.  Meanwhile  there  were  menaces  to  Agra  closer 
at  hand;  notably  the  strong  fort  of  Biana  which  had 
lately  gone  over  to  the  Rajput  side.  That  was  not  to 
be  endured,  and  Humayon,  who  was  an  excellent  sec- 
ond-in-command, set  out  to  reduce  the  renegades  to 
order,  Babar  meanwhile  remaining  in  Agra  and  making 
preparations  for  the  big  fight  that  was  bound  to  come. 

One  of  these  was  the  casting  of  a  big  siege  cannon 

292 


KING-ERRANT  293 

for  the  purpose  of  battering  Biana,  which  was  sure  to 
be  recalcitrant  to  the  last.  The  task  was  entrusted  to 
Master-gunsmith  Ali-Kool,  than  whom  no  better  crafts- 
man lived  in  all  Asia.  He  had  learnt  his  art  away  in 
the  far  West,  and  called  himself  ever  Ali-Kool  of  Tur- 
key. A  small,  spare  bit  of  a  man  with  sparse  whiskers 
and  a  faint  pitting  of  small-pox  —  or  gun-powder — ■ 
over  a  puffy  face.  But  an  excellent  artificer,  staking  his 
reputation  on  a  big  gun  that  should  throw  a  fifty-pound 
shot  over  four  miles!  It  was  a  big  order,  and  Babar's 
imagination  caught  fire.  He  was  down  at  the  furnaces 
every  day  watching  the  preparations.  Eight  furnaces 
in  a  circle,  centring  the  huge  clay  mould.  But  it  was 
at  night  that  he  loved  to  see  the  roaring  flames  with 
the  naked,  black  figures  of  the  stokers  dancing  about 
them,  and  the  lurid  glow  of  the  half-molten  metal  light- 
ing up  the  very  heavens  above.  The  heat  was  intense. 
None  of  his  courtiers  could  stand  it  for  long,  but  he, 
his  eyes  keen  with  curiosity,  doffed  raiment  and  went 
about  naked  as  he  was  born,  save  for  a  waist-cloth. 

"  The  Most-Clement  prepares  himself  for  Paradise," 
remarked  the  most  caustic  wit  of  the  party;  and  Babar 
laughed  gaily.  "  I  prefer  Hell  in  time  rather  than  in 
eternity,  friend,"  he  replied;  and  as  usual  began  an 
extempore  versicle  on  the  idea. 

"  Will  it  be  at  dawn  to-morrow,  master  ?  "  he  asked  of 
Ali-Kool  late  one  evening. 

"  At  dawn  to-morrow,"  replied  the  master-gunsmith 
boastfully,  "  the  largest  cannon  in  Asia  will  be  found  in 
the  armoury  of  Babar  Padishah ! " 

He  was  nearly  beside  himself  with  excitement;  but  at 
dawn  next  day  he  stood,  pale  to  ashen-greyness,  still 
as  a  stone. 

Everything  was  ready.  It  only  needed  the  word  to 
open  the  sluices  and  let  the  molten  metal  run  into  the 


294  KING-ERRANT 

mould.  And  that  word  was  the  name  the  gun  was  to 
bear  in  the  future. 

"Now!     Most-Clement!"   palpitated   Ali-Kool 

"  Deg  Ghazi ! "  came  Babar's  full  voice ;  the  which 
being  interpreted  means  Holy- Victorious-Pot.  A  yell 
of  clamouring  voices,  a  clash  of  implements  half- 
drowned  the  christening. 

Then  like  streaks  of  light  the  molten  metal  crept  with 
slow  swiftness,  gathering  speed  as  it  flowed,  bringing 
with  it  fierce,  almost  unbearable  heat.  The  mould 
filled  —  half    full  —  three-quarters  — 

And  then  ?  Then  the  metal  ceased  to  run.  There  was 
no  more  in  the  furnaces     .     .     .     ! 

Ali-Kool  was  like  one  demented. 

"  Hold  the  man,"  shouted  Babar,  whose  eyes  were 
ever  alert  for  other  people  as  well  as  himself,  "or  he 
will  do  himself  a  mischief ! " 

And  indeed  it  was  time!  Poor  Ali-Kool  was  on  the 
edge  of  the  mould  as  if  about  to  throw  himself  into  the 
molten  metal,  waving  his  arms  about  wildly,  and  calling 
High  Heaven  to  witness  that  it  ought  not,  it  could  not, 
have  occurred.  And  Babar's  kindly  touch  on  his  shoul- 
der, his  kindly  words  — "  Nay,  Master-;V^,  such  things 
do  happen  at  times  to  the  best  of  us,"  only  brought 
grief  and  shame  to  strengthen  anger.  He  was  dis- 
graced—  he  had  disgraced  the  Emperor     .     .     . 

"  Not  one  whit !  "  laughed  Babar.  "  And  as  for  thee 
—  here!  Slaves!  Bring  quick  a  robe  of  honour  —  the 
best !  and  here,  where  the  misadventure  —  they  are  sent 
by  God,  remember,  O  Ali-Kool!  —  occurred  will  I  in- 
vest thee  and  make  thee  noble ! " 

It  was  a  fine  group.  The  kingly  figure  so  full  of  hu- 
man sympathy,  the  broken-hearted  artificer  smiling  per- 
force a  watery  smile,  the  crowding  workmen,  the  in- 
souciant courtiers,  both  full  of  approval.    And  tuning 


KING-ERRANT  295 

all  to  the  perfect  harmony  of  true  Life,  the  appeal  to 
that  which  lies  beyond  chance  and  misadventure. 

"Lo!  His  Majesty  hath  the  touch  of  consolation  to 
perfection,"  said  Tardi-Beg. 

"Yea!"  assented  Ali-Jan,  "but  I  would  he  had  as 
fine  a  sense  of  danger.  Dost  know  that  he  hath  put  on 
four  Hindustani  cooks  to  his  Royal  Kitchen,  because 
forsooth,  he  hath  never  tasted  the  dishes  of  this  accursed 
country  and  must  needs  try  them?" 

"  Aye !  "  said  Mahomed  Bakshi,  who  was  Superintend- 
ent-of-the-Household,  "  and  what  is  worse,  they  be  the 
Royal  cooks  of  the  late  King!  Heard  you  ever  such 
fool-hardiness?  Lo!  I  have  put  on  two  new  tasters; 
but  what  is  that?  These  idolaters  have  strange  ways 
and  strange  poisons." 

"  And  strange  dishes !  "  put  in  Tardi-Beg.  "  Lo !  I 
eat  none  at  the  Emperor's  supper  parties." 

"  Nor  I,"  chorused  several. 

"  Gentlemen !  "  said  Mahomed  Bakshi.  "  You  speak 
without  thought  for  the  interior  of  a  kitchen.  Poison 
may  go  into  any  pot.  Twere  better  to  eat  nothing. 
Then  would  my  labours  be  less." 

"  Thy  percentages  also,"  laughed  a  recognised  wit. 
"  Heed  him  not,  gentlemen.  Tis  but  his  way  of  keep- 
ing our  stomachs  empty,  so  that  more  profit  fills  his 
pocket." 

So  the  subject  was  dismissed  with  a  joke;  though  in 
truth  it  was  far  from  being  one.  For  Babar's  some- 
what reckless  appointment  of  these  four  Hindustani 
cooks,  had  set  in  train  one  of  those  fine-drawn  female 
plots  to  poison  which  seem  inseparable  from  the  seclu- 
sion of  women.  It  is  as  if  the  concentrated,  confined 
vitality,  denied  outlet  in  natural  ways,  seeks  expression 
in  pure  venom.  The  late  Sultan-Ibrahim's  mother  lived, 
by  Babar's  generosity,  in  comparative  State.     He  had 


296  KING-ERRANT 

assigned  lands  to  her,  treated  her  with  the  utmost  re- 
spect, and  when  he  addressed  her,  did  so  as  "  mother." 
But  the  mere  chance  of  having  a  Hindustani  cook  in 
the  royal  kitchen  was  too  much  for  gratitude. 

The  result  Babar  wrote  to  Maham  when,  consider- 
ably the  worse  for  the  incident,  he  was  still  living  on 
water-lily  flowers  brayed  in  milk. 

"  The  ill-fated  lady,  having  heard  of  my  appointment 
of  cooks,  delivered  no  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  ounce 
of  poison  to  a  female  slave  and  sent  it  to  Ahmed,  her 
taster,  wrapped  up  in  a  folded  paper.  He,  seducing  the 
man  by  promise  of  vast  lands,  handed  it  to  one  of  the 
cooks,  desiring  him  by  some  means  or  another  to  throw 
it  into  my  food.  The  man  did  not  throw  it  into  the 
pot,  because  I  had  strictly  enjoined  my  tasters  ever  to 
watch  the  Hindustanis;  fortunately,  therefore,  he  only 
threw  it  into  the  tray.  In  this  fashion.  When  they 
were  dishing  the  meat,  my  graceless  tasters  must  have 
been  inattentive,  for  he  managed  to  throw  about  one- 
half  of  the  poison  on  a  plate  which  held  some  thin 
slices  of  bread.  These  he  covered  with  meat  fried  in 
butter.  The  better  half  in  his  haste  he  spilt  in  the  fire- 
place. 

"  It  was  fried  hare.  I  am  very  fond  of  hare,  so  I  ate 
a  good  deal  and  also  fried  carrot.  I  was  not,  however, 
sensible  of  any  disagreeable  taste.  But  while  I  was 
eating  some  smoked-dried  meat  I  felt  nausea.  Now  the 
day  before  while  eating  this  smoke-dried  flesh  I  had  de- 
tected an  unpleasant  taste  in  a  part  of  it.  I  therefore 
ascribed  my  nausea  to  that  incident.  But  it  was  not  so. 
I  was  very  ill.  Now  I  have  never  been  ill  in  that  way 
even  after  drinking  wine.  Suspicion  therefore  crossed 
my  mind  immediately.  I  desired  the  cooks  to  be  taken 
into  custody,  and  directed  the  rest  of  the  meat  to  be 
given  to  a  dog,  and  that  it  be  shut  up.     The  dog  became 


KING-ERRANT  297 

sick,  his  belly  swelled,  he  could  not  be  induced  to  rise 
until  noon  next  day  when  he  rose  and  recovered.  Two 
young  menials  in  the  kitchen  who  had  partaken  of  the 
food  also  suffered.  One  indeed,  was  extremely  ill,  but 
in  the  end  both  escaped. 

"And  so  did  I. 

"  Next  morning  I  held  a  court,  and  the  miscreants  be- 
ing questioned,  detailed  the  whole  circumstances  of  the 
plot  in  all  its  particulars.  The  master-taster  was  or- 
dered to  be  cut  in  pieces;  the  cook  flayed  alive;  the 
female  slave  to  be  shot  by  a  matchlock.  The  ill-fated 
lady  I  condemned  to  be  thrown  into  custody  for  life: 
one  day,  pursued  by  her  guilt  she  will  meet  with  due 
retribution  in  penitence. 

"  Since  then  I  have  lived  chiefly  on  antidotes  and  lily- 
flowers,  and  thanks  be  to  God !  there  are  now  no  remains 
of  illness.  But  I  did  not  fully  comprehend  before  how 
sweet  a  thing  life  is.     As  the  poet  says: 

" '  He  who  comes  to  the  Gate  of  Death  knows  the 
value  of  Life.'  Truly  when  this  awful  occurrence 
passes  before  my  memory,  I  feel  myself  involuntarily 
turn  faint;  but  having  overcome  my  repugnance  even 
to  think  of  it,  I  write,  so  that  no  undue  alarm  or  un- 
easiness might  find  its  way  to  you.  God  has,  indeed, 
given  me  a  new  life.  Other  days  await  me,  and  how 
can  my  tongue  express  my  gratitude.  The  ill-fated 
lady's  grandson  Ibrahim  had  previously  been  guarded 
with  the  greatest  respect  and  delicacy;  but  when  an  at- 
tempt of  so  heinous  a  nature  was  discovered  to  have 
been  made  by  the  family,  I  do  not  think  it  prudent  to 
have  a  son  of  the  late  King  in  this  country.  So  I  am 
sending  him  to  my  son  Kamran,  away  from  Hindustan. 
I  am  now  quite  recovered." 

This  was  true,  but  the  nervous  shock  remained. 
Babar  had  been  close  to  death  in  its  most  sordid  form 


298  KING-ERRANT 

To  die  like  a  poisoned  rat  was  to  him,  with  his  breezy, 
open-hearted  love  of  frankness  in  all  things,  a  horrible 
fate.  His  repugnance  even  to  think  of  it  was  real;  but 
he  hovered  between  two  methods  of  forgetfulness  — 
the  drowning  of  thought  in  the  wine-cup,  and  the  ano- 
dyne of  repentance  and  forgiveness.  Deep  down  in  his 
heart,  he  felt  himself  foresworn  in  not  having  kept  to 
his  promise  of  reform  when  he  was  forty;  but  he  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  take  the  plunge  and  give  up 
wine.  It  was,  he  told  himself,  the  only  comfort  in  that 
cursed  country,  the  one  thing  that  made  life  possible. 
With  its  help,  even  fever  and  ague  were  bearable. 

It  was,  therefore,  in  the  midst  of  drinking  bouts,  that 
news  came  which  roused  him  to  other  activities.  It 
had  never  needed  much  to  change  the  habitual  toper 
into  a  clear-sighted  man  of  arms.  And  never,  in  all  his 
life,  had  news  of  such  significance  brought  Babar  up 
with  a  round  turn. 

Rana  Sanka  of  Udaipur  was  on  the  move.  The  quar- 
rel could  no  longer  be  put  off.  The  fight  for  final  su- 
premacy was  nigh  at  hand. 

The  news  came  when  the  Christmas  rain  was  just 
over,  and  Babar,  exhilarated  as  he  always  was  by  the 
freshened  verdure  of  trees,  the  sudden  start  into  growth 
of  the  wide  wheat  fields,  was  heightening  his  enjoyment 
by  a  feast  over  the  river  in  "  Kabul,"  which  day  by  day 
under  his  fostering  care,  showed  more  and  more  like- 
ness to  the  sponsor  country.  Humayon  was  back  from 
a  successful  expedition  and  was  of  the  party;  no  kill- 
joy, his  father  thought  fondly,  though  he  drank  no  wine ; 
not  from  scruples  but  from  lack  of  liking. 

It  was,  of  course,  a  wonderfully  innocent  and  guile- 
less party.  No  coarse  jokes,  no  scurvy  tricks.  But  the 
most  of  them  were  incontestably  drunk,  and  even 
Babar's  strong  head  was  fast  becoming  fuddled  when 


KING-ERRANT  299 

the  special  messenger  arrived.  Canopus  was  shining 
away  like  a  moon  in  the  South,  and  Babar  looked  at  it 
gravely,  yet  truculently. 

"  Gentlemen ! "  he  said  solemnly,  and  it  was  all  he 
could  do  not  to  hiccup.  "  Draw  your  s-s-words,  gen- 
tlemen. We  have  to  fight  a  —  a  —  dam-ned  —  p-pagan 
—  to  —  to-morrow.     Meanwhile  Til  sing  you  a  song: 

"  Account  as  wind  or  dust 
The  world's  pleasures  and  pain. 
Be  not  raised  up  or  crushed 
By  its  good  or  its  bane. 

As  a  mere  throw  of  dice 
Is  the  life  of  a  man. 
Fortune  goes  in  a  trice. 
Just  a  flash  in  the  pan. 

Take  then  a  cup  of  wine. 
Drink  it  down  to  the  dregs, 
And  don't  grumble  or  whine, 
'Tis  but  the  fool  who  begs." 

His  voice  failed  him  when  he  had  got  so  far.  He 
sat  solemn-drunk  gazing  at  Canopus,  wondering  how 
many  years  ago  it  was  since  he  had  first  seen  it  from 
the  top  of  the  Pass. 

How  clear,  how  cold  the  night-air  had  been.  How 
the  star  had  sparkled!  How  the  glad  life  in  him  had 
answered  to  the  thrill  of  that  distant,  heaven-sent, 
throbbing  light     .     .     . 

Well!  The  night  was  as  clear,  as  cold  now.  The 
stars?  —  how  they  sparkled  and  shone,  all  colours  like 
jewels     .     .     . 

Yes!  all  things  were  the  same  except  himself    .     .     . 

"  Gentlemen ! "  he  said  suddenly,  rising  unsteadily  to 
his  feet,  "  I  give  you  leave.     I  —  I  go  to  my  bed." 


300  KING-ERRANT 

But  he  was  up  before  dawn  next  day  to  see  Ali-Kool 
put  the  final  touches  to  the  great  gun  he  had  been  mak- 
ing. For,  after  all,  the  casting  had  been  a  success,  need- 
ing only  a  little  alteration  to  make  it  perfect.  In  the 
afternoon  it  was  tested,  and  threw  one-thousand-six- 
hundred  good  paces,  which  was  not  so  bad. 

And  all  Agra  was  in  a  turmoil  of  preparation  for  the 
coming  march;  but  there  was  so  much  to  be  done  that 
a  few  days  passed  before  Babar,  at  the  head  of  all  his 
available  troops,  moved  out  in  battle  array  to  occupy  the 
rising  ground  at  Sikri,  where  the  huge  tank  promised 
abundance  of  water.  He  had  been  in  a  fever  of  impa- 
tience to  get  there,  lest  the  Pagans,  also  seeing  its  many 
advantages  as  a  camping  ground,  might  forestall  him. 
But  the  17th  of  February  found  him  preparing  for  the 
biggest  battle  of  his  life  in  the  very  place  where  his 
grandson  Akbar  was,  in  after  years,  to  build  his  Town- 
of-Victory. 

It  was  just  a  year  since  Babar  had  entered  India. 
Now  he  was  faced  by  the  strongest  man  in  it,  and  the 
fight  must  be  to  the  bitter  end. 

Yet  he  could  not  resist  the  seduction  of  an  aromatic 
comfit  before  he  threw  himself,  outwearied,  on  his  camp 
bed.  But  he  said  his  prayers  before  he  took  it,  and 
tried  to  forget  that  long-made  promise  that  forty  should 
see  him  sober. 


CHAPTER  V 

^        "Like  to  a  thunder  cloud  that  rears  itself 
In  towering  mass  across  the  peaceful  sky, 
Equal  in  threat,  until  the  vivid  snake 
Of  lightning,  shot  —  God  knows  from  East  or  West ! 
Flashes  fierce  war  between  the  blended  foes. 
So  stood  those  warriors,  each  to  each  a  twin 
In  honour,  courage,  indivisible/' 

The  camp  at  Sikri  looked  West.  With  the  ridge  of 
red  rock  behind  it,  the  wide  tank  to  the  left  of  it,  noth- 
ing more  could  be  desired  in  position.  And  Babar  had 
fortified  it,  in  addition,  after  his  usual  custom.  The 
swivel  guns,  united  every  fifteen  feet  by  heavy  chains 
and  backed  by  a  deep  ditch,  gave  security  to  the  front, 
while  tripods  of  wood  similarly  linked,  protected  the 
right  flank.  Mustapha  the  Ottoman  had  done  signal 
service  in  disposing  the  remaining  artillery  according 
to  the  Turkish  fashion.  An  exceedingly  active,  intelli- 
gent, and  skilful  gunner  was  Mustapha;  but  unfortu- 
nately Master-gunner  Ali-Kool  and  he  were  at  deadly 
enmity;  so  they  had  to  be  kept  apart.  Babar,  a  trifle 
weary,  kept  them  so  with  consummate  tact.  He  had, 
so  to  speak,  Hved  on  diplomacy  for  the  last  year.  He 
had  pursued  his  policy  of  magnanimity  without  one 
swerve,  and  little  by  little  the  tide  of  popularity  had 
set  his  way. 

One  by  one  insurgent  chiefs  had  sent  in  their  submis- 
sion, so  that  in  this  camp  at  Sikri  were  many  who  but  a 
year  before  had  been  sworn  foes  to  the  Northmen. 

So  far  he  had  succeeded.  Alone,  unaided  —  at  any 
rate  in  thought  —  he  had  won  half  Hindustan,  not  so 
much  by  the  sword  as  by  statesmanship. 

301 


302  KING-ERRANT 

And  yet  on  the  24th  February  as  he  stood  watching 
the  Khorasan  pioneers  and  spademen  throwing  up 
further  earthworks,  he  felt  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
forlorn.  Perhaps  the  darkness  of  the  day  depressed 
him.  It  was  late  afternoon,  and  for  days  rain  had  been 
brewing;  the  heavy  rain  which  sometimes  falls  in  March 
to  bring  bumper  crops  to  the  wide  fields. 

Purple  clouds  hung  like  a  pall  under  the  sky  and 
brought  a  weird,  vivid  glint  as  of  steel  to  the  stretches 
of  green  wheat.  Far  away  on  the  south-western  hori- 
zon this  glint  shimmered  into  a  broad  band  of  light  that 
told  where,  before  long,  the  hidden  sun  must  set. 

There,  in  that  light,  the  spear-points  of  the  advancing 
foe  would  glisten.  Did  they  glisten  now?  Or  was 
that  only  the  shimmer  of  countless  millions  of  wheat 
blades  going  forth  to  war  against  starvation? 

The  fanciful  idea  came  to  Babar's  brain,  as  such 
quaint  thoughts  did  come  often,  while  he  was  looking 
over  the  wide,  ominous  plains,  recognising,  also,  that  it 
was  not  an  encouraging  landscape  to  the  ordinary  eye. 

But  nothing  was  encouraging.  The  long  waiting  had 
told  upon  the  temper  of  his  troops,  it  had  given  time  for 
desertions.  Then  a  trifling  defeat  to  a  skirmishing 
party  had  intensified  the  growing  alarm;  a  well-de- 
served defeat,  due  to  gross  lack  of  judgment  on  the 
commander's  part;  but  the  rank  and  file  could  not  be 
expected  to  give  weight  to  arguments.  A  disaster  spelt 
disaster  to  them,  nothing  more  nor  less,  especially  if 
they  were  afraid    .     .     . 

And  they  were  afraid. 

Small  blame  to  them !  Babar  himself  did  not  view  his 
adversary  with  equanimity.  He  admitted  it.  For 
Rana  Sanka  of  Udaipur  was  true  man ;  a  fitting  repre- 
sentative of  Rajput  valour.  There  was  no  need  to  say 
more.     Aye!  true  man,  though  he  lacked  an  eye,  lost 


KING-ERRANT  303 

in  a  broil  with  his  brother,  an  arm  lost  in  pitched  battle, 
and  was  crippled  in  one  leg  broken  by  a  cannonball! 
True  man,  undoubtedly,  though  but  a  fragment  of  a 
warrior  scarred  by  eighty  lance  and  sword  wounds! 
Babar  thought  of  his  own  good  luck  in  many  a  battle, 
almost  with  regret.  Aye!  Pagan,  Rana  Sanka  might 
be  —  it  was  best  anyhow  to  call  him  so  to  the  troops  — 
but  he  was  worthy  foe  for  all  that,  and  he  could  bring 
two-hundred-thousand  horsemen  into  the  field,  if  need 
be. 

Two-hundred-thousand ! 

No  wonder  the  troops  were  timorous ;  no  wonder 
their  nerve  was  going  fast.  Babar,  tall,  lean,  with  clear, 
anxious  eyes  thanked  God  for  the  distraction  which  had 
come  to  the  camp  but  yesterday.  About  five  hundred 
persons  attendant  on  a  grandson  of  his  dead  uncle  of 
Khorasan  had  arrived  in  the  environs  of  the  camp,  and 
with  quick  insight  Babar  had  seized  the  occasion  to  send 
out  a  numerous  escort  to  hide  the  smallness  of  the  newly- 
arrived  force,  which  thereinafter  figured  in  the  order 
book  as  "important  re-inforcement  from  Kabul";  since 
by  fair  means  or  foul,  the  men's  courage  must  be  kept 
up. 

And  the  butler  who  had  been  sent  to  Kabul  for  wine 
had  returned  too  with  fifteen  camel-loads  of  choice 
Ghazni ! 

But  this  was  no  time  for  drunkenness,  though  a  gob- 
let or  two  might  be  —  must  be  —  permissible ;  for  of  one 
thing  there  was  no  doubt.  Never  in  all  his  life  had 
Babar  stood  nearer  to  habitual  toping.  He  had  had  a 
hard  time  of  it;  he  had  been  cut  off  from  the  domestic 
life  which  had  ever  been  his  safeguard,  he  had  had  to 
fight  fever  and  poison.  Briefly  he  was  overwrought. 
That  was  noticeable  in  the  nervous  restlessness  of  his 
hand  upon  his  sword  hilt  as  he  strode  about  his  camp 


/ 

/ 


304  KING-ERRANT 


moodily  watchful  for  every  sign  of  discontent  or  de- 
pression. And  there  were  many.  It  seemed  almost  as 
if  no  one  could  utter  a  manly  word,  or  give  a  courageous 
opinion.  Save  his  own  son  Humayon,  his  son-in-law 
Mahdi  (husband  to  the  little  Ma*asuma  to  whom  Babar 
had  given  her  mother's  name)  and  one  general,  not  a 
soul  spoke  bravely  as  became  men  of  honour  and  firm- 
ness.    Not  one. 

Going  his  rounds  that  evening  a  new  factor  for  dis- 
couragement cropped  up.  He  was  passing  the  tents  of 
some  of  his  best  Kabul  troops,  when  a  voice  bombastic, 
prophetic,  met  his  ear. 

*'  Lo !  the  stars  cannot  lie ! ''  it  said ;  "  and  Mars  be- 
ing in  the  ascendant  to  the  West,  it  follows  of  a  cer- 
tainty that  any  force  coming  from  the  East  will  suffer 
disastrous  defeat.  Be  warned,  oh!  warriors!  The 
heavens  cannot  lie !  " 

Before  the  last  words  had  well  ended,  Babar  stood 
before  the  speaker  literally  blazing  with  wrath  and  rec- 
ognising in  him  Mahomed  Shereef,  a  well-known  Kabul 
astrologer.  He  was  seated  before  a  chart  of  the  stars, 
and  swayed  backwards  and  forwards  rhythmically, 
whilst  before  him,  filling  the  close  tent  with  scented 
smoke,  burnt  a  brazier.  Its  blue  salt-fed  flame  flared  on 
the  fearful  faces  of  a  dozen  or  more  soldiers. 

''God  send  thee  to  hell!'*  burst  out  Babar.  "How 
camest  thou  hither,  infamous  fool?  —  Why  didst  not 
stay  in  Kabul?" 

The  man  —  he  had  a  pompous,  self-satisfied  face  — 
was  shrewd.     He  knew  his  power,  and  held  his  own. 

"  I  came  hither,  Most-Clement,  with  the  wine  camels, 
being  minded  to  give  the  benefit  of  my  science  to  His 
Majesty  and  His  Majesty's  soldiers." 

"  Science ! "  echoed  Babar  hotly ;  "  thou  meanest 
lies." 


KING-ERRANT  305 

"The  stars  cannot  lie,"  began  the  soothsayer,  but 
Babar  in  a  perfect  passion  of  wrath  had  him  by  the 
throat. 

"  Here !  guards !  seize  this  rascally  fellow,"  he  cried, 
then  hesitated.  "  No ! "  he  went  on,  loosing  his  hold 
and  flinging  the  man  from  him  in  contempt.  "  Let  him 
go !  Punishment  would  but  invite  credence.  But  mark 
my  words,  villainous  soothsayer!  if  any  more  be  heard 
of  this  opposition  of  Mars—"  He  paused  again  and 
this  time  burst  into  bitter  laughter.  "  No !  Let  these 
men  sup  their  fill  of  horrors  if  they  wish  it  —  but  they 
shall  hear  me  first." 

He  turned  to  his  soldiers  and  stretched  out  his  right 
hand  in  appeal. 

"  Men !  I  have  led  you  all  these  years.  Have  I  led 
you  into  more  danger  than  brave  men  dare  face?  Aye, 
once!  for  thou,  O  Shumshir — "  his  quick  eye  had 
seized  on  an  old  veteran  — *'  wert  with  me  even  then ! 
Aye!  once  at  Samarkand  when  Babar  got  the  worst 
beating  of  his  life  —  when  Babar  fled  like  a  rat  to  his 
hole,  starved  for  six  months  and  escaped  with  bare  life 
—  but  —  but  not  with  honour  —  No!  with  dishonour!" 
His  voice  had  risen  and  almost  broke  over  the  last  word 
from  sheer  stress  of  emotion.  "  And  wherefore  was  I 
beaten  ?  "  he  went  on  more  calmly ;  "  because  I  fought 
on  star-craft,  because  the  stars  lied  to  me.  They  said 
I  would  win  and  I  was  beat!  So!  set  the  snivelling 
sayings  of  that  silly  worm  against  the  experience  of 
Babar,  your  leader,  if  you  will.  But  you  will  not! 
You  will  leave  jugglery  and  devils'-craft  to  your  foes 
the  Pagans ;  for  the  trust  of  the  true  Moslem  is  in  the 
Most   High   God  —  Allah-hu-Akbar !  " 

He  gave  the  cry  of  faith  from  full  lungs  and  it  was 
echoed  by  the  men.  For  the  time  he  had  scotched  fear ; 
but  only  for  a  time.     The  astrologer  was  at  worst  a  di- 


306  KING-ERRANT 

version  in  the  long  weariness  of  waiting,  and  round  the 
camp  fires  the  soldiers  talked  of  nothing  else. 

"  Lo !  he  is  good  prophet,"  said  one ;  "  he  told  my 
wife's  sister  her  son  would  die  and  he  did." 

"And  'tis  all  well  enough  to  call  it  devils'-craft,"  put 
in  another,  "  but  who  made  the  stars,  save  God  ? " 

"  And  to  what  use  were  they  made  ?  "  asked  a  third 
argumentatively,  "save  to  guide  men  aright?  There 
is  no  other  good  in  them." 

This  proposition  was  so  palpably  true  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  those  days  that  even  Babar  himself  had  no 
weapon  against  the  argument.  Nor  could  any  deny 
that  Mars  was  in  the  ascendant  in  the  West ! 

The  Emperor  as  he  sat  wearied  out  with  anger  and 
irritation  could  see  it  for  himself  shining  red;  steadily, 
placidly  red. 

"  Oh !  for  God's  sake,  gentlemen !  "  he  said  captiously 
when  he  had  exhausted  every  argument  he  could  think 
of  to  allay  the  evident  alarm  even  of  his  highest  nobles, 
"  let  us  leave  it  hanging  in  the  heavens  and  get  to 
Paradise  ourselves.  Cup-bearer!  the  new  Ghazni  wine. 
That  may  help  us  to  forget  foolery.  Mayhap  it  would 
have  been  better  to  have  brained  the  knave  on  the  spot 
—  but  a  man  can  but  do  his  best." 

He  drained  his  cup  to  the  lees,  held  it  out  for  more, 
and  called  for  a  song. 

"  Thank  God  for  wine ! "  he  muttered  under  his 
breath  as  he  felt  the  fumes  rising  to  his  brain. 

Never  had  merriment  been  more  fast  and  furious; 
never  had  Babar  drunk  more  recklessly. 

Song  after  song  rent  the  night  air,  mingled  with  out- 
cries and  loud  laughter;  but  there  was  sufficient  de- 
corum left  for  comparative  silence  when  the  Emperor 
himself  Hfted  up  his  voice  in  "The  Buss";  a  favourite 
Turkhoman    ditty.     It    had    rather    a    quaint,    plaintive 


KING-ERRANT  307 

tune,  and  a  catching  refrain  which  was  duly  bellowed 
by  the  others. 

"He  (his  moustache  twirled)   called  to  her  aloud, 

*  Give  me  a  buss,  lass !     Lo !  your  lips  are  red/ 

She  (her  bright  hair  curled)  spoke  him  back  full  proud, 

*  Give  me  a  gold  piece,  merry  sir,*  she  said. 

'Merry  sir,'  she  said,  etc. 

'Lass!    I  would  give  thee  golden  fee  galore, 
But  my  purse,  alas !  is  in  wallet  tan 
Of  the  saddle  bag  my  swift  camel  bore. 
And,  see  you,  my  dear,  that's  still  at  Karuwan, 
Still  at  Karuwan,'  etc. 

*  Lad !  I  would  buss  you,  were  my  lips  but  free, 
Only,  as  you  see,  they  won't  ope  a  span, 
Mother  locked  my  teeth !     Mother  keeps  the  key, 
Mother  (like  thy  camel)  's  still  at  Karuwan, 

Still  at  Karuwan. 
Mother    (like  thy  camel)    's  still  at  Karuwan.' " 

The  endless  refrain  went  on  and  on  sillily,  mingled 
with  the  twanging  of  the  cithdras  and  boisterous  laugh- 
ter. 

It  was  a  roaring  night,  and  Babar,  for  once  blind- 
drunk,  fell  asleep  at  last  among  his  cushions.  The 
others  had  been  carried  back  to  their  several  tents,  so, 
when  he  roused  to  the  crow  of  a  cock  he  was  alone  save 
for  drowsy  servants. 

But  half-sober,  he  sat  up  and  listened  gravely. 

"Oh,  Cock!''  he  quoted  with  a  hiccup.  "Oh, 
Cock    .     .     .     ! 

"  Cock,  flutter  not  thy  wings. 
It  is  not  nearly  day. 
Why  with  shrill  utterings 
Drivest  thou  sleep  away? 


308  KING-ERRANT 

Lo !  in  the  Land  of  Nod, 
To  perfect  peace  I'd  come. 
Oh,  Cock !  there  is  a  God 
Will  surely  strike  thee  dumb, 
Surely  —  strike   thee  —  dumb  — " 


He  stood  up,  stretched  with  a  lurch,  passed  unstead- 
ily to  the  doorway  of  the  tent,  raised  the  curtain,  and 
looked  out. 

Far  in  the  east  a  great  drift  of  spent  rose-leaf  clouds 
lay  softly  between  the  lightening  sky  and  the  lightening 
earth. 

And  see!  already  their  curled  petals  were  catching 
the  underglow  of  the  hidden  sun. 

Babar  stood  still  and  held  his  breath  hard,  sobered 
in  every  fibre  of  his  being,  yet  elate  with  something  new 
that  fled  to  heart  and  brain  like  molten  fire. 

A  new  day!     A  new  day!     A  new  day! 

The  words  surged,  not  through  him  only,  they  echoed 
to  the  very  sky.  It  is  not  given  to  all,  this  sudden  exal- 
tation, this  sudden  absorption  of  the  self  into  something 
beyond  self,  and  Babar,  the  fumes  of  last  night's  wine 
still  hanging  between  him  and  clear  thought,  could  only 
realise  that  something  had  come  to  him;  that  something 
was  irrevocably  settled  for  ever. 

"  My  charger,  slave !  "  he  said  hoarsely.  "  It  —  it  is 
time  I  went  my  rounds." 

It  stood  ready  at  the  door ;  he  mounted,  and,  after  his 
wont,  rode  off  alone. 

The  fresh  cool  air  of  a  North-Indian  winter  dawn  bit 
softly  at  his  cheek  and  brought  him  knowledge  of  his 
own  conversion. 

Wherefore  he  could  not  tell,  but  he  was  going  to 
drink  no  more.  He  had  done  with  wine,  for  ever.  All 
these  last  four  or  five  years  since  he  was  forty,  he  had 


KING-ERRANT  309 

been  cheating  himself  —  aye!  and  his  God  too, —  with 
lies.     Now  there  was  to  be  truth. 

There  was  no  special  reason  for  this  resolution;  it 
was,  indeed,  hardly  a  resolution  of  his  own.  It  had 
come  to  him  with  those  dawn-red,  rose-leaf  clouds  flung 
from  some  Garden  of  Paradise.  Wherefore  it  had 
come,  he  could  not  say.  He  had  often  seen  dawn-clouds 
before;  he  had  often  —  ah!  how  often  —  made  resolu- 
tions. These  were  different.  This  resolution  was  not 
his. 

"  Bid  a  general  parade  be  commanded  at  the  second 
watch,''  he  said  on  his  return  from  his  survey  of  the 
posts;  then  passed  into  his  office  tents,  and  began  his 
daily  work  of  supervision. 

"  Twill  be  to  harangue  us  all,''  grumbled  a  fine- 
weather  soldier  sullenly,  "  but.  King  or  no  King,  I  fight 
not  with  one  who  wars  against  the  fiat  of  the  stars." 

"  Nor  I !  "  answered  another ;  and  though  few  were 
so  outspoken,  a  certain  dour  opposition,  sat  on  almost 
every  face  in  the  great  concourse  of  men  who,  in  the 
full  glare  of  the  noonday  sun,  massed  themselves  round 
the  great  Audience-Tent  in  obedience  to  their  leader's 
command. 

He  came  out  from  the  shadow  of  the  tent,  clad  in  his 
loose  white  tunic,  jewelless,  swordless,  a  simple  man  in 
the  prime  of  life;  a  man  with  a  kindly,  human  face,  but 
with  a  clear  eye  that  seemed  to  see  right  to  the  heart 
of  things.  He  held  a  crystal  cup  in  his  right  hand,  full 
to  the  brim  with  red  wine. 

"  Noblemen !  Gentlemen !  and  Soldiers !  "  rang  out 
the  strong  mellow  voice.  "  All  who  sit  down  to  the 
Feast  of  Life,  must  end  by  drinking  the  Cup  of  Death. 
Therefore  it  behooves  all  to  be  ready  for  that  last 
Draught  by  repenting  him  of  the  evil  he  has  done.  Lo ! 
I   repent  me  of  my  sin.     I   repent  xne  of  my  broken 


310  KING-ERRANT 

promise.     Now!  with  the  salvation  of  a  righteous  death 
before  me,  I  cast  away  my  great  temptation !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  crystal  cup  he  held  flew  from  his 
hand  and  the  red  wine  scattered  from  it  as  it  fell  shiv- 
ered to  atoms,  soaked  into  the  dry  sand  leaving  a  stain 
as  of  blood. 

"  Lo !  I  repent,''  he  repeated,  his  face  afire ;  "  who 
follows  me?" 

"  I  do,  sire ! "  said  one  Asas,  the  heaviest  drinker  in 
the  camp,  and  Babar  turned  on  him  a  face  radiant  with 
friendly  thanks. 

"  That  makes  it  less  hard,"  he  said  joyously.  "  Thou 
hast  more  to  renounce  than  I ! " 

"  And  I  also,  Most-Clement ! "  put  in  a  soft  grave 
voice.  "  I  follow  fair  where  Babar  goes."  It  was 
Tardi-Beg,  quaint,  frolicsome  soul,  on  whom  the  Em- 
peror vented  much  of  his  boyish  fun,  and  who  was  sat- 
isfied with  one  kindly  glance  of  perfect  sympathy. 

"  And  I !  "— "  And  I !  "— "  And  I !  "  came  here,  there, 
everywhere. 

Then  followed  a  memorable,  an  almost  unbelievable 
scene.  From  the  tent  behind  Babar  came  slaves  bear- 
ing great  trays  of  silver  and  gold  goblets,  ewers,  meas- 
ures; strong  men  bearing  casks  and  skins  of  wine,  a 
smith  or  two  with  his  anvil. 

"  Break  up  the  gold  and  silver  and  give  it  to  the  poor, 
and  pour  the  wine  back  to  the  storehouse  of  God ! " 
came  Babar's  voice.  "  Where  it  falls  shall  be  built  a 
well  whence  travellers  may  quench  their  thirst." 
'  For  a  minute  or  two  the  army  watched  the  hammers 
falling,  watched  the  red  wine  sinking  into  the  sand; 
then  it  caught  fire  at  the  sight  and  men  crowded  round 
in  hundreds  to  cast  their  wine-cups  on  to  the  pile  and 
take  the  oath  of  abstinence.  But  the  Emperor  himself 
stood  silent.     He  was  thinking  how  glad  Maham  would 


KING-ERRANT  311 

be ;  Maham  who  had  so  often  striven  to  wean  him  from 
his  sin. 

But  after  the  stir  and  excitement  of  the  morning,  the 
evening  closed  in  dark  and  gloomy.  A  few  spots  of 
rain  fell,  and  Babar,  made  restless  probably  by  the  lack 
of  his  usual  stimulant,  decided  on  moving  forwards  to 
meet  the  enemy.  Anything  seemed  better  than  inaction. 
This  was  done;  but  even  the  bustle  of  marching  failed 
to  rouse  the  men's  spirits.  The  warnings  of  the  old 
astrologer  returned  in  greater  force,  a  general  conster- 
nation and  alarm  prevailed  amongst  great  and  small. 
Something  more  must  be  done;  so  once  again  Babar 
called  a  grand  parade;  but  this  time  he  held  the  Holy 
Koran  in  his  right  hand.  It  was  many  days  now  since 
wine  had  crossed  his  lips ;  he  had  felt  no  desire  to  drink, 
no  temptation  to  break  his  oath,  and  yet  that  abstinence 
had  told  upon  him  physically.  He  was  more  high- 
strung  than  ever;  more  exalted.  And  so  he  struck 
even  a  higher  note. 

''  How  much  better  is  it  to  die  with  honour  than  to 
live  with  infamy,"  he  cried.  "  Lo !  The  Most-High  is 
merciful  to  us.  If  we  fall,  we  die  the  death  of  martyrs 
since  we  fight  the  Pagan.  If  we  live,  we  live  the  vic- 
torious avengers  of  the  Faith.  Let  us  then  swear  on 
God's  holy  word  that  none  of  us  will  turn  his  face  from 
Death  or  Victory  till  his  soul  is  separated  from  his  body. 
'  With  fame,  even  if  I  die,  I  am  content.  Fame  shall 
be  mine !  though  my  body  be  Death's.'  " 

The  Persian  verse  came  to  him  unsought,  echo  from 
his  far  youthful  days  when  Firdusis'  Shah-namah  had 
been  the  delight  of  his  boyhood. 

But  it  came  to  him  Godsent.  Familiar  to  almost  all, 
it,  and  this  declaration  of  Holy  War  stirred  the  whole 
army  to  its  heart.  The  eflfect  was  instantly  visible;  far 
and  near  men  plucked  up  courage. 


312  KING-ERRANT 

None  too  soon.  That  very  evening  a  patrol  brought 
in  the  news  that  the  enemy  was  within  touch. 

All  was  bustle,  for  Babar  was  too  experienced  a  gen- 
eral to  engage  an  overwhelming  foe  without  having 
some  entrenched  position  upon  which  to  fall  back. 

A  day  or  two  was  occupied  in  throwing  up  earth- 
works a  mile  or  two  ahead,  so  it  was  not  till  the  i6th 
of  March,  1527,  that  the  guns  and  the  troops  moved  on 
to  take  up  their  position,  Babar  himself  galloping  along 
the  line,  animating  the  various  divisions,  giving  to  each 
special  instructions  how  to  act;  giving  almost  to  every 
man  orders  how  he  was  to  behave,  in  what  manner  he 
was  to  engage. 

It  was  the  last  opportunity  he  was  to  have  of  bring- 
ing the  personal  equation  to  bear  upon  his  force,  since 
ere  they  had  settled  into  camp,  the  great  moment, 
awaited  for  six  long  weeks  was  on  them.  Without  loss 
of  time  the  Emperor  sent  every  man  to  his  post,  the 
lines  of  chained  guns  and  waggons  was  linked  up,  the 
reserves  withdrawn  from  the  front  —  their  great 
strength  was  ever  a  special  feature  of  Babar's  general- 
ship—  and  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  save 
await  the  onset. 

Humayon  commanded  the  right.  Mahdi  Kwaja, 
Ma'asuma's  husband,  the  left,  Babar  reserving  the  centre 
for  himself.  Once  again,  his  plan  was  to  force  in  the 
enemy's  wings  and  so  create  confusion.  But  ere  this 
could  be  done,  his  own  wings  had  to  withstand  at- 
tack. 

At  half-past  nine  in  the  morning,  a  furious  charge  of 
the  flower  of  Rajput  chivalry  almost  shook  Humayon's 
force.  His  father  was  on  the  watch,  however;  reserves 
came  up  speedily,  and  Mustapha's  guns  from  the  right 
tentre  were  brought  into  action.  Despite  their  deadly 
fire,  fresh  and  fresh  bodies  of  the  enemy  poured  on  un- 


KING-ERRANT  313 

dauntedly,  and  Babar  saw  his  reserves  dwindling;  for 
the  attack  had  been  equally  fierce  on  the  left.  Now, 
therefore,  was  the  moment  of  effort.  Now  something 
must  be  done  or  nothing.  The  battle  had  raged  for 
hours ;  now  it  must  be  decided  one  way  or  the  other. 

"  Flanking  columns  right  and  left,  wheel  and 
charge ! "  came  the  order.  "  Guns  in  the  centre  ad- 
vance! Cavalry  charge  to  right  and  left  of  matchlock 
men!  Wings  to  follow  suit  if  they  can!  Now  then! 
Master-Gunner  Ali-Kool!  let  us  see  if  thou  canst  whip 
Mustapha !  " 

"  The  Most-Clement  shall  see ! "  yelled  the  old  man ; 
and,  uncovered  by  the  charging  cavalry  the  big  guns 
with  their  huge  stone  balls  began  on  their  task.  The 
battle  was  now  universal  and  the  unexpected  move- 
ments, made  all  at  the  same  moment,  had  the  desired 
effect  upon  the  enemy.  His  centre  was  thrown  into 
slight  confusion. 

Babar  set  his  teeth.  "  Reserves  to  the  flanking  col- 
umns !  And  steady,  steady,  in  front !  —  no  rushing  — 
close  in  —  close  in." 

But  this  was  no  battle  of  an  hour  or  two  as  at 
Paniput. 

Step  by  step  the  gallant  Rajputs  disputed  the 
way  of  that  steady  boring.  They  made  repeated  and 
desperate  attacks  on  the  Emperor's  centre  in  the  hopes 
of  recovering  the  day:  but  all  were  received  bravely, 
steadily,  without  one  waver.  How  could  there  be  one 
with  that  marvellous  general  behind,  sitting  his  horse 
like  an  oriental  Napoleon,  cool,  collected,  unarmed, 
ready  of  resource,  of  reserve? 

By  this  time  one  of  the  flanking  columns  had  got 
round  to  the  enemy's  rear;  the  Rajputs  were  forced  into 
their  centre.  Briefly,  Babar  had  won  the  battle  on  his 
own  settled  lines.     By  sunset,  the  brave  defeated,  still 


314  KING-ERRANT 

numerous,  had  nothing  left  to  them,  but  to  cut  their  way 
as  best  they  could  through  those  encircling,  suffocating 
arms  and  so  effect  what  retreat  they  could. 

But  the  victory  was  final,  it  was  complete.  When  the 
moon  rose  that  night  it  shone  upon  multitudes  of  gal- 
lant dead.  Rana  Sanka  had  himself  escaped,  though 
severely  wounded;  but  never  again  was  he  or  any  other 
of  his  family  to  take  the  field  against  the  Moghul  power. 
They  had  learnt  to  fear  the  Northmen. 

The  enemy  being  thus  defeated,  parties  were  sent 
after  the  fugitives  to  prevent  their  reforming.  Babar 
felt,  vaguely,  that  he  was  guilty  of  neglect  in  not  going 
himself,  but  he  was  thoroughly  spent  and  weary  of 
bloodshed.  He  had  gained  his  point;  he  had  proved 
himself  the  better  man  of  the  two,  and  for  the  present 
that  was  enough  for  him.  So,  after  riding  a  few  miles 
in  pursuit,  he  turned  to  reach  his  own  camp  about  bed- 
time prayers. 

At  the  door  of  his  tent  a  dim  figure  showed,  and  pro- 
fuse gratulations  on  victory  rose  out  of  the  darkness  in 
a  well-remembered  and  bombastic  voice. 

It  was  Mahomed  Shereef  the  astrologer.  This  was 
too  much!  Babar,  wearied  as  he  was,  poured  forth  a 
perfect  torrent  of  abuse.  No  word  was  too  bad  for 
the  miserable  fool.  But  when  he  had  thus  relieved  his 
heart,  he  suddenly  began  to  laugh. 

"  Lo ! "  he  said,  "  thou  art  heathenishly  inclined,  per- 
verse, extremely  self-conceited  and  an  insufferable 
evil-speaker.  Yet  art  thou  also  an  old  servant.  There- 
fore, see  here!  —  the  Treasurer  shall  give  thee  a  whole 
lakh  of  rupees,  so  that  thou  go  to  the  devil  out  of  my 
dominions.  Never,  my  friend,  let  me  see  thy  ill-omened 
face  again!     All's  well  that  ends  well." 

Indeed  as  Babar  laid  his  head  on  the  pillow  that  night 
as  undoubted  master  of  India,  his  one  regret  was  that 


KING-ERRANT  315 

he  could  not  have  had  a  personal  tussle  with  his  brave 
and  honourable  adversary. 

He  had  been  worth  beating. 

And  he  had  been  beaten  —  effectually. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Distraught  am  I,  since  that  I  gave  up  wine. 
Confused,  to  nothing  doth  my  soul  incline 
Regret  did  once  my  penitence  beget; 
Now  penitence  induces  worse  regret. 

Babar. 

Babar  wrote  these  verses  from  a  full  heart;  for  he 
found  much  difficulty  in  reconciling  himself  to  the  des- 
ert of  abstinence. 

And  It  was  a  desert  indeed !  After  the  storm  of  war 
had  come  peace  —  at  least  comparative  peace  —  and  a  flat 
calm  was  never  to  his  taste  even  in  youth.  And  here 
it  was  aggravated  almost  beyond  bearing  by  a  thou- 
sand-and-one  minor  troubles.  To  begin  with,  ere  he 
had  commenced  the  Holy  War  against  that  honourable 
Pagan,  Rana  Sanka,  he  had  told  his  soldiers  that  if 
successful,  as  many  of  them  as  wanted  it  should  have 
leave  to  return  home.  And  this  promise  had  to  be  ful- 
filled. Then  Humayon's  division  had  consisted  almost 
entirely  of  levies  from  Badakhshan  where  the  young 
Prince  had  been  governor,  and  these  were  seized  with  a 
great  longing  for  home.  As  Kabul  was  imperfectly  de- 
fended, it  seemed  best  therefore  to  send  both  the  di- 
vision and  its  leader  back;  indeed  Humayon  himself 
needed  a  rest.  He  had  worked  magnificently  and  now 
a  young  wife  was  awaiting  his  return;  so,  in  God's 
name  let  him  go.  And  little  Ma'asuma  should  have  her 
husband  back  also;  a  good  sort,  though  he  need  not 
have  shown  his  discomfort  quite  so  openly.  Still,  let 
him  go  also,  to  return  when  the  approaching  hot  weather 
was  past,  as  governor  of  Etawah. 

316 


KING-ERRANT  817 

Then  Tardi-Beg!  Babar's  heart  sank  as  he  thought 
of  life  without  the  man  who  for  years  and  years  had 
been  more  of  a  charge  than  a  help  in  manners  mundane ; 
but  in  all  things  super-mundane  what  a  joy !  Thought- 
less, profuse,  a  lover  of  the  glass,  how  often  had  he  not 
turned  a  frown  to  a  laugh  —  a  merry,  innocent  laugh? 
Truly,  ever  since  he,  Babar,  had  come  across  him,  an 
irresponsible  lovable  darvish,  and  had  prevailed  upon 
him  to  give  up  religion  in  favour  of  fighting,  he  had 
been  a  perpetual  stand-by  to  that  side  of  Babar's  nature 
which  was  not  even  perceived  by  the  mass  of  his  en- 
tourage. And  now  to  have  none  ready  with  quip  and 
crank  that  held  just  the  salt  of  life  wherewith  it  must 
be  salted! 

Yet  Tardi-Beg  must  go  too.  That  renunciation  of 
his  had  re-aroused  religion  in  his  heart,  and  it  must  be 
allowed  free  course.  He  also  would  see  the  gardens  of 
Kabul,  would  feel  its  fresh  breezes,  drink  its  ice-cold 
water.  .  .  .  Truly!  if  one  did  not  drink  wine^  the 
water  should  at  least  be  cold! 

Babar  gulped  down  a  tepid  draught  disgustedly,  and 
worked  away  at  the  verses  he  meant  to  send  by  his 
friend  to  those  other  friends  who  had  deserted  him  last 
year.     They  were  in  Turkhi  and  ran  as  follows: 

"  Oh,  ye !  who  left  us  alone  to  die 
'Neath  the  sultry  heat  of  an  Indian  sky, 
Who  shirked  the  labour  of  life  to  fly 
Back  to  its  comfort,  its  jollity, 
Lo!  you  have  had  your  recompense  fair, 
Of  joy  and  delight  your  proper  share. 

But  we  have  struggled  to  hold  our  own. 
Have  tilled  and  laboured  without  a  moan, 
And  God's  great  mercy  a  way  has  shown 
To  patient  content  as  the  seed  was  sown, 


318  KING-ERRANT 

You  in  Life's  garden  God's  harvest  missed. 
I  gather  it  here  in  Hesht-Bishist." 

Hesht'Bishist  or  the  Eighth-Paradise  being  the  name  of 
his  favourite  garden  in  Agra. 

In  fact  verses  and  gardens  were  his  greatest  amuse- 
ment that  hot  weather,  much  of  which  he  spent  at 
Dholpur  where  he  was  busy  laying  out  pleasure-grounds 
and  building  palaces.  He  had  disbanded  most  of  his 
troops  until  the  rainy  season  was  over,  and  sent  his 
nobles  to  the  several  districts  assigned  to  them.  Thus 
he  was  left  alone  to  fight  out  the  temperance  battle  by 
himself.  It  did  not  agree  with  him  evidently,  for  twice 
he  nearly  succumbed  to  sudden  illness;  but  he  brought 
religion  to  bear  on  the  question  with  a  grave  simplicity 
all  his  own,  and  kept  feasts  and  fasts  with  the  strictest 
orthodoxy. 

Even  here,  however,  he  could  not  be  quite  conven- 
tional; for,  never  since  he  was  eleven,  having  held  the 
Festival  of  Ramzan  two  years  running  in  the  same  place 
—  a  fact  which  gives  testimony  to  his  unsettled  life  — 
he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  break  through  the 
usage.  So  he  ordered  a  fine  camp  to  be  pitched  at  Sikri, 
and  deserted  his  capital. 

Thus  the  months  sped  by  bringing  disappointments 
and  minor  pleasures.  The  news  which  came  to  him  that 
Humayon  —  Humayon  the  magnificent,  the  darling  of 
his  heart  —  had  on  his  way  through  Delhi  broken  open 
the  treasure-houses  there  and  marched  off  Kabul-wards 
with  their  contents,  hurt  him  extremely.  He  had  never 
expected  such  conduct  from  him,  so  he  wrote  him  a  let- 
ter containing  the  severest  reprehensions,  and  therein- 
after fell  ill  for  seventeen  days.  It  was  not  so  bad  a 
fever,  however,  as  that  which  seized  on  him  in  October 
after  he  swam  the  Ganges  at  Sambal,  in  order  to  ride 


KING-ERRANT  319 

alone  (having  separated  from  his  people  by  a  finesse  — 
for  no  reason  at  all)  to  Agra.  He  lay  half -delirious  then 
for  nigh  four  weeks,  his  brain  busy  all  the  time  with 
versifications. 

He  only  recollected  one  of  them,  however,  when  at 
last,  a  mere  skeleton  of  a  man,  he  rose  from  his  bed. 
He  set  it  down,  however,  to  show  how  bad  he  had  been. 

"  My  fever  grows  each  day. 
My  slumber  fades  away, 
My  pains  go  on  increasing  — 
My  patience  is  decreasing." 

He  laughed  over  the  doggerel,  as  he  sat  joyously  eat- 
ing fruit  once  more,  and  reading  a  letter  which  told  him 
that  in  a  month's  time  two  of  his  paternal  aunts  would 
actually  pay  him  a  visit.  They  had  come  south  with 
little  Ma'asuma  whom  her  husband  was  taking  to  Eta- 
wah. 

He  was  full  on  the  instant  of  preparations.  An  archi- 
tect was  sent  for  and  orders  given  for  a  special  palace 
to  be  decorated  for  their  reception.  He  himself,  pass- 
ing rapidly  through  convalescence  went  out  to  meet 
them  in  a  boat  above  Secunderabad.  It  was  a  most 
joyful  meeting,  and  Babar  hugged  the  old  ladies  as  they 
had  never  been  hugged  before.  It  was  almost  unbe- 
lievable, this  delight  of  family  life  once  more.  To  hear 
their  shrill  voices,  with  the  beloved  Turkhi  accent, 
prattling  away  about  the  dear  loved  ones  in  Kabul  was 
almost  too  much  for  him.  But  they  bewailed  his  looks 
and  chattered  of  old  Chagatai  recipes  for  deer's  broth 
and  mares'-milk  cheeses  till  he  shut  his  eyes  and  tried 
to  believe  they  were  his  dearest  mother  and  his  revered 
grandmother  at  Andijan  and  that  he  was  still  King  of 
the  valley  at  the  extreme  limit  of  the  habitable  world, 
and  not  Emperor  of  all  India. 


320  KING-ERRANT 

Then  he  opened  them  and  took  in  and  loved 
the  quaint  old-fashioned  dresses  and  everything  about 
them  that  was  unlike  the  gorgeously  ugly  East  which 
in  his  heart  he  loathed.  But  it  was  his,  and  it  would 
be  his  son's  and  his  son's  son's;  so  there  was  no  more 
to  be  said. 

Nevertheless  the  meeting  accentuated  his  dislike  to 
India  and  he  found  it  necessary  to  put  something  into 
life  to  make  up  for  its  lack  of  real  interest.  He  had 
taken  the  title  of  Ghd^i  or  "  Defender  of  the  Faith  " 
after  his  victory  over  Rana  Sanka.  Now  he  felt  that 
another  Holy  War  against  the  heathen  might  bring  the 
lacking  zest  to  life.  It  might,  anyhow.  But  he  failed 
to  see  it  clearly  in  the  Crystal  Bowl  which  Maham  had 
given  him.  He  used  it  chiefly  as  a  divining  cup  now; 
or  rather  as  a  sort  of  scrying  crystal  into  which  he  would 
look,  and  dream  dreams. 

But  he  never  saw  anything  in  it  save  his  own  thoughts. 
He  could  not,  however,  after  his  illness,  summon  up 
sufficient  energy  to  start  this  Holy  War  that  winter,  and 
so  another  hot  weather  found  him  still  at  Agra.  It  was 
his  third  spent  alone  in  a  country  he  disliked  fervently. 
But  the  gardens  he  had  planted  were  growing  up,  the 
flowers  he  had  gathered  from  far  and  near  were  blos- 
soming. Kabul,  over  the  river,  now  bore  some  faint  re- 
semblance to  its  namesake.  Here  he  held  a  grand  festi- 
val for  his  veteran  soldiers.  There  were  not  many 
now  who  had  been  with  him  since  as  a  boy  he  had  wan- 
dered over  the  upland  alps  at  Ilak;  and  it  was  fitting 
they  should  be  singled  out  for  distinction. 

It  was  a  fine  feast  indeed.  Babar  sat  in  a  small 
octagonal  pavilion  on  the  river  bank,  and  before  the  re- 
past was  served,  sports  and  games  were  displayed  on 
an  island  just  opposite.  Here,  there  were  fights  be- 
tween   furious    camels    and    elephants,    ram   fights   and 


KING-ERRANT  321 

wrestling  matches.  Meanwhile  the  presents  were  being 
given.  Vests  and  rich  dresses  of  honour,  besides  gifts 
of  other  value  were  bestowed,  while  Babar,  always  at  his 
best  as  bountiful  entrepreneur,  had  many  a  smile  and 
jest,  many  a  kindly  remembrance  of  past  days  to  give 
with  the  other  presents.  Then  came  food,  Hindustan 
jugglers  and  acrobats  who  did  surprising  tricks;  be- 
sides many  dancing-girls  who  performed  outlandish 
dances.  Finally,  towards  evening  prayer  time,  a  great 
quantity  of  gold  and  silver  and  copper  money  was  scat- 
tered amongst  the  crowd  and  there  was  a  precious  hub- 
bub and  uproar. 

Altogether  it  was  like  the  light-hearted  old  Kabul  days 
and  Babar  felt  the  better  for  it.  So,  the  cool  setting  in 
once  more,  he  started  on  his  Holy  War  against  the 
Pagan;  but,  though  he  tried  hard  to  take  an  interest  in 
it,  somehow  it  fell  rather  flat.  He  was  more  struck 
with  the  beauty  of  Rajputana  than  with  the  virtue  of 
exterminating  the  idolaters  who  lived  there.  A  country 
where  there  was  abundance  of  running  water,  small 
pretty  lakes,  where  little  spots  of  rising  ground  afforded 
beautiful  sites  for  houses,  and  where  the  houses  in  ex- 
istence were  beautiful  and  capacious,  of  hewn  stone 
wrought  with  great  skill  and  labour,  was  not  a  coun- 
try to  devastate.  So  he  came  back  again,  to  work  on 
annexation  with  the  pen  instead  of  by  the  sword,  and 
to  receive  three  more  paternal  aunts  who  came  crowd- 
ing to  claim  his  boundless  hospitality. 

They,  however,  brought  sad  news  from  Kabul. 
Little  Faruk,  the  son  he  had  never  seen,  was  dead. 
There  was  a  piteous  letter  from  Maham  all  blistered 
with  tears.  The  child  had  never  been  strong  —  surely 
God's  judgment  must  be  on  her  that  all  her  children 
died  —  but  he  had  gone  to  play  with  his  little  brothers 
and  sisters  in  Paradise.     So  there  was  none  left  now  but 


322  KING-ERRANT 

Humayon,  whom  God  preserve;  Humayon  who  was 
looking  these  days  for  a  child  of  his  own.  God  send 
it  were  a  son.  Not  that  it  would  matter  much  to  heart- 
broken Maham.  And  scribbled  underneath  the  flourish 
of  a  signature  were  these  words :  "  If  my  lord  desireth 
another  son  let  him  take  another  wife.  I  am  ac- 
cursed." 

Babar  wept  over  this  postscript  more  than  over  the 
rest  of  the  letter.  He  was  very  sorry,  of  course ;  but  the 
child  was  but  an  abstraction  to  him,  while  the  thought 
of  his  DearCvSt-dear's  grief  was  bitter  indeed. 

He  wrote  her  the  most  loving  of  letters,  begging  her 
not  to  hurt  him  by  such  words.  Even  had  he  not  had, 
by  her  forethought  and  kindness,  other  sons,  Humayon 
would  have  satisfied  him.  Humayon  was  a  son  of  whom 
anyone  might  be  proud;  so  handsome,  so  courtly,  so 
brave. 

And  by  the  same  messenger  he  sent  congratulations 
to  the  new-made  father;  for  by  this  time  the  news  of 
the  birth  of  a  grandson  had  been  brought  by  special 
runner. 

"  To  Humayon,*'  he  began,  "  whom  I  remember  with 
such  longing  to  see  him  again,  health." 

It,  also,  was  the  most  loving  of  letters.  "  Thanks  be 
to  God,"  he  wrote,  "  for  giving  to  you  a  child,  to  me 
a  comfort  and  an  object  of  love.  You  have  called  him 
Alaman  —  the  Protected  of  God  —  May  God  protect  him 
and  bestow  on  thee  and  on  me  many  years  made  happy 
by  the  name  and  fame  of  Alaman." 

He  went  on  to  tell  his  son  gently  but  firmly  that  indo- 
lence and  ease  suit  but  ill  with  royalty.  Did  not  the 
poet  say: 

"The  world  is  his  who  gives  himself  to  work; 
Inaction  is  no  fellow  to  ambition; 


KING-ERRANT  323 

In  wisdom's  eyes  all  men  may  find  repose, 
Save  only  he  who  seeks  a  King's  condition." 


And  then,  with  a  certain  pathetic  bitterness,  he  told 
him  that  for  two  years  he  had  had  no  direct  news  of  his 
son,  though  in  the  last  letter  the  latter  had  complained 
of  separation  from  his  friends. 

"  It  is  but  ill  manners  in  a  prince,"  he  wrote,  "  to 
complain  of  this,  seeing  that  if  one  is  fettered  by  situa- 
tion, 'tis  ever  most  dignified  to  submit  to  circumstance. 
Truly  there  is  no  greater  bondage  than  that  in  which  a 
King  is  placed,  and  it  ill  becomes  him  to  grumble  at 
inevitable  separations." 

So,  with  perhaps  a  vague  sense  of  injury,  he  re- 
marked that  though  Humayon  had  certainly  written 
him  letters  and  that  with  his  own  hand,  he  could  never 
have  read  them  over,  "  for  had  you  attempted  to  do  so," 
he  wrote  —  and  the  letter  is  still  extant,  "  you  must  have 
found  it  absolutely  impossible.  I  did,  indeed,  contrive 
to  decipher  your  last,  but  with  great  difficulty.  It  was 
excessively  crabbed  and  iconfused;  a  real  riddle  in 
prose!  Then,  in  consequence  of  the  far-fetched  words 
you  employed,  the  meaning  is  by  no  means  very  intelli- 
gible. You  do  not  excel,  I  know,  in  letter  writing,  but 
if  in  future  you  would  write  unaflfectedly,  with  clear- 
ness, using  plain  words,  it  would  cost  less  trouble  both 
to  the  writer  and  the  reader." 

Babar  himself  was  at  the  time  in  a  distinctly  literary 
mood,  for  as  a  demonstration  of  joy  on  the  birth  of 
Humayon's  child  and  the  marriage  of  Kamran,  one  of 
Babar's  other  sons,  he  sent  —  in  addition  to  other  lavish 
presents  —  two  copies  written  in  his  own  Babari  hand 
of  all  the  translations  and  original  poems  he  had  com- 
posed since  coming  to  India. 

And  this  was  no  small  task,  for  in  his  last  attack  of 


324  KING-ERRANT 

serious  illness  he  had  set  himself  to  translating  into 
verse  a  religious  tract,  as  a  curative  measure.  It  had 
not,  however,  proved  very  successful,  though  in  his 
ardour  he  had  composed  on  an  average,  fifty-two  coup- 
lets a  day. 

For  he  still  suffered  continually  from  fever  and  often 
from  dysentery.  In  fact,  though  he  could  still  swim 
over  the  Ganges  in  three  and  thirty  strokes,  take  breath 
and  swim  back  again  in  like  number,  he  was  beginning 
to  realise  that  life  was  passing.  Surely,  by  now,  he 
had  set  his  foot  with  sufficient  security  upon  the  throne 
of  India  to  warrant  his  sending  for  those  dear  ones  who 
were  never  very  far  from  his  thoughts  and  resuming 
the  happy,  simple  family  life  which  suited  him  best. 

He  pondered  over  this  question  for  some  months.  It 
meant,  of  course,  a  delay  in  his  own  return  to  Kabul. 
But  that  was  inevitable.  Hindustan  was  not  yet  suffi- 
ciently settled  to  allow  of  his  absence.  Divided  in  his 
mind  between  intense  longing  to  see  his  native  country 
again,  and  his  ideal  of  kingly  self-denial,  he  hesitated; 
until  news  of  discord  in  the  Royal  clan  decided  him, 
and  he  wrote  to  Kwajah-Kilan,  the  Governor  at  Kabul, 
to  take  instant  steps  to  start  the  Royal  Family  for  Hin- 
dustan. His  letter  told  his  old  friend  that  the  affairs  of 
the  country  had  been  reduced  to  a  certain  degree  of 
order ;  ere  long  he  hoped  to  see  them  completely  settled. 
Then  without  losing  an  instant  of  time  he  would  set  out, 
God  willing,  for  his  western  dominions.  ''  My  solici- 
tude to  visit  Kabul  again  is  boundless  and  great  beyond 
expression.  How  is  it  possible  indeed  that  its  delights 
could  ever  be  erased  from  the  heart?  How  is  it  pos- 
sible for  one  like  me,  who  have  made  a  vow  of  absti- 
nence from  wine,  to  forget  the  delicious  melons  and 
grapes  of  that  pleasant  region?  Very  recently  some 
one  brought  me  a  single  musk-melon.    While  cutting 


KING-ERRANT  325 

it  up  I  felt  myself  affected  by  so  strong  a  sense  of  lone- 
liness, and  of  exile  from  my  beloved  country  that  I  could 
not  help  shedding  tears  even  as  I  ate  it." 

So,  after  giving  minute  instructions  on  various  sub- 
jects, especially  as  to  the  planting  of  trees  at  a  place 
called  the  Prospect,  and  the  sowing  of  beautiful  and 
sweet-smelling  flowers  and  shrubs,  he  went  on  to  detail 
his  own  experiences  in  reconciling  himself  to  the  desert 
of  penitence.  "  Last  year  my  desire  and  longing  for 
wine  and  social  parties  were  beyond  measure  excessive; 
to  such  an  extent,  indeed,  that  I  have  caught  myself 
shedding  absolute  tears  of  vexation  and  disappointment. 
(For  God's  sake  do  not  think  amiss  of  me  for  this.)  In 
the  present  year,  praise  be,  these  troubles  dre  over. 
This  I  ascribe  (in  part)  to  the  occupation  of  my  mind 
in  the  poetical  translation  of  a  tract ;  of  which  no  more 
at  present.  Let  me  advise  you,  too,  to  adopt  a  life  of 
abstinence.  Social  parties  and  wine  are  doubtless 
pleasant,  in  company  with  our  jolly  friends  and  old  boon 
companions.  But  with  whom  can  you  enjoy  the  social 
cup?  Truly  if  you  have  only  Shir- Ahmed  and  Hindai 
for  the  companions  of  your  gay  hours  and  the  jovial 
goblet,  you  cannot  find  any  difficulty  in  abstinence." 

This,  Babar  felt,  was  unanswerable.  So  far  as  he 
was  concerned  he  knew  that  drunkenness  in  the  com- 
pany of  blockheads  had  been  no  better  than  sobriety. 
And  he  was  not  born  to  suffer  fools  gladly. 

After  he  had  taken  the  irrevocable  step  and  sent  for 
his  Dearest-dear,  he  went  out  and  looked  at  the  stars 
before  settling  himself  to  sleep,  telling  himself  that  he 
felt  years  younger  at  the  very  thoughts  of  seeing  them 
all  again. 

After  four  years!  four  long  years.  They  would  not 
have  changed,  of  course;  to  him  at  least  they  could 
never  change.     But  how  about  himself?    He  had  grown 


326  KING-ERRANT 

gaunt  and  grey.  Still  at  heart  he  was  young  —  Aye! 
as  young  as  when  he  had  first  bidden  the  Crystal  Bowl 
bring  him  the  whole,  not  the  half  of  Life. 

Well !  he  had  had  his  share.  And  there  was  Canopus 
hanging  in  the  south! 

"All  hail  Soheil!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

Good  old  St.  Martin!  patron  of  the  drunk! 
Lo  I   in  thy  summer  thou  givest  potent  draught 
To  warm  our  cockles  ere  the  world  be  sunk 
In  winding  sheet  of  snow.    This  is  thy  craft, 
O  cheerful  saint!  to  give  ere  the  year  dies 
A  euthanasian  drink  of  cloudless  skies. 

There  was  no  question  as  to  the  youth  of  the  man 
who  on  Midsummer  Eve  A.  D.  1529  was  riding  post 
haste  from  Kalpi  to  Agra,  a  distance  of  close  on  a  hun- 
dred miles,  to  meet  his  wife  and  children.  He  sat  his 
horses,  laid  out  along  the  sandy  sun-bitten  roads,  as 
only  a  Chagatai  Turkh  could  do,  and  when  he  flung  him- 
self from  his  last  mount  at  midnight  in  the  Garden-of- 
the-Eighth-Paradise,  he  had  indeed  passed  beyond  the 
Seventh-Heaven-of-Happiness. 

It  seemed  simply  incredible  that  before  many  hours 
were  over  he  should  see  Maham  again.  Maham,  his 
moon,  his  more  than  wife ! 

It  was  no  joyous  festival  to  him,  this  Eve  of  St.  John ; 
but  surely  in  some  occult  fashion,  the  youth  of  all 
Christendom  as  it  rejoiced  with  garlands  and  merry 
shoutings  and  dances,  must  have  reached  him  in  far  In- 
dia. Perhaps  —  since  there  is  no  limit  to  such  uncon- 
scious influences  —  the  immemorial  festival  of  summer 
that  has  been  held  since  the  world  began,  added  its 
quota  of  perennial  life  to  the  vitality  that  was  still  ready 
to  leap  up  at  any  stimulus. 

Certain  it  is  that  in  this,  the  commencement  of  this 
St.  Martin's  summer  of  his  life,  Babar  needed  no  pity 
for  spent  power. 

327 


328  KING-ERRANT 

He  had  been  delayed  by  storm  and  wind  and  rain. 
Only  a  few  days  before  he  had  had  an  awkward  ex- 
perience which  might  have  resulted  in  serious  injury. 
He  had  been  sitting,  writing,  in  his  tent  at  past  mid- 
night when  the  clouds  of  the  rainy  season  broke,  and 
there  was  suddenly  such  a  tempest,  and  the  wind  rose 
so  high  that  it  blew  down  the  pavilion,  with  the  screen 
which  surrounded  it,  on  his  head.  He  had  had  no  time 
even  to  gather  up  his  papers  and  the  loose  sheets  that 
were  written;  so  they  all  got  drenched.  However,  with 
much  trouble  they  were  picked  up  here,  there,  every- 
where, and  set  to  dry  in  a  woollen  cloth  over  which  car- 
pets were  thrown.  But  he  had  had  to  put  a  jesting 
postcript  to  Maham's  letter  to  say  the  blisters  were  not 
tears.  They  wrote  to  each  other  constantly,  these  two, 
and  letters  from  Maham  made  ever  a  red-letter  day  in 
the  Diary  which  Babar  kept. 

But  now  this  was  over!  There  would  be  no  more 
need  for  writing,  since  she  was  within  a  few  miles  of 
Alighur  where,  God  willing,  he  meant  to  meet  her  so 
soon  as  he  had  seen  that  all  things  were  in  order  for 
her  reception  at  Agra. 

Never  was  there  such  a  fussy  host  as  he  showed  him- 
self. 

*'  Truly,  nephew  Babar,"  snorted  Khadijah,  his  chief 
paternal  aunt,  when  he  cavilled  at  some  domestic  ar- 
rangement in  Maham's  private  apartment,  "I  am  woman 
and  I  ought  to  know.  If  men,  and  especially  Kings,  were 
to  do  their  own  work  and  leave  such  things  to  those 
who  understand,  'twould  be  better." 

He  looked  quite  crestfallen,  so  that  the  Fair-Princess, 
filled  with  pity,  nudged  him  to  say  that  if  he  sent  her 
the  flowers  she  would  see  to  their  being  properly  placed. 

Whereat  he  was  grateful  and  went  off  to  his  beloved 
gardens  to  choose  what  he  wanted.     Not  roses  or  mari- 


KING-ERRANT  329 

golds.  Those  were  familiar.  He  must  show  his 
Dearest-dear,  and  little  Gulbadan  too,  who  was  to  come 
with  this  advance  party,  the  beauties  of  Hindustan. 
They  must  be  shown  that  there  were  some  beauties !  So 
he  picked  the  red  oleander  he  had  found  in  the  old  gar- 
dens at  Gwalior  and  the  snowy  gardenia.  Then  for 
scent  there  was  the  sweet  pandanus.  But  his  favourite 
of  all,  the  scarlet  hibiscus,  could  not  be  gathered  till 
the  very  last,  as  it  withered  so  soon.  In  a  single  hour 
its  beauty  would  have  gone;  and  Maham  must  see  how 
cunningly  the  thing  like  a  heart  showed  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  broad  flower.  She  must  see  the  marvel- 
lous colour,  deeper,  richer,  more  beautiful  than  the 
pomegranate. 

Then  there  were  endless  orders  to  give  about  foun- 
tains, and  fireworks,  and  food.  For  everything  of 
good  in  Hindustan  must  be  laid  at  Maham's  feet  the 
moment  she  arrived. 

After  this  there  were  papers  to  be  signed,  and  letters 
to  be  sent  out  to  various  governors ;  for  Babar  had  been 
many  months  away  from  his  capital  on  a  campaign  in 
Bengal.  Still,  if  Maham  kept  to  her  programme,  he 
would  have  plenty  of  time  for  the  fifty  odd  miles  to 
Alighar  if  he  rode  fast;  and  she  could  hardly  be  due 
there  for  another  twenty-four  hours. 

But  he  had  reckoned  without  the  loving  heart  on  the 
other  side.  Maham,  as  eager  as  he  for  the  joyful  meet- 
ing, had  pushed  on,  and  reaching  Alighar,  had  left  little 
eight-year-old  Gulbadan  to  follow  at  leisure  in  charge  of 
her  nurse,  and  had  come  on  straight  post-haste  to  Agra. 

*'Your  Majesty!"  faltered  a  breathless  messenger, 
rushing  into  the  Presence  unceremoniously  —  all  Agra 
was  on  the  qui  vive,  and  this  was  no  time  for  the  delay 
of  etiquette  — "  Her  Highness  is  on  the  road  —  four 
miles  out  —  I  have  just  passed  Her  — " 


330  KING-ERRANT 

Babar  stood  up  dazed.  Maham!  To  fling  his  pen 
aside  and  start  was  instant.  No  time  for  a  horse,  not 
even  for  shoes.  As  he  was,  bareheaded,  in  his  slipper 
shoon,  he  was  out.  In  the  dust  under  the  stars  he  ran, 
and  with  God  only  knows  what  star-drift  and  dust-atoms 
in  his  brain.  Earth  there  might  have  been,  but  of  a 
surety  there  was  heaven  also. 

Canopus  of  Victory  shone  to  the  South;  the  War- 
rior, perchance,  showed  to  the  North.  But  he  saw 
neither.  Venus  shone  like  a  young  moon  but  cast  no 
shadow  on  his  path.  And  down  the  straight  dusty  road 
came  a  litter  jingling  as  it  jolted.  He  laughed  aloud  in 
his  joy  as  he  sprinted  the  last  few  yards. 

"Maham!  Maham!'' 

For  the  rest,  what  does  it  matter?  Let  those  two 
keep  it  to  themselves  for  all  time  and  eternity. 

"  My  lord !  let  me  descend  and  walk,  too,''  faltered 
Maham  after  a  bit,  but  he  shook  his  head  lightly. 

"  Nay,  my  moon  —  that  would  delay  us  and  thou  must 
get  home  —  home?  —  God!  what  delight!  Now  then, 
ye  bearers,  a  good  foot  first,  or  the  King  will  do  gang- 
leader  and  make  the  pace ! " 

His  joyous  threat  roused  instant  laugh,  and  with  a 
will,  the  tired  men  set  off  at  an  amble,  chanting  in  time 
to  their  steps.  At  every  minute  nobles,  apprised  of  the 
unexpected  arrival,  came  galloping  up,  to  fall  into  the 
tail  of  the  little  procession  after  vain  efforts  to  make  the 
Emperor  take  their  horses.  But  Babar  would  none  of 
them.  He  wanted  to  hold  his  wife's  hand  as  he  strode 
beside  her  and  hear  her  sweet  familiar  voice  saying 
"  Yea  "  and  "  Nay  "  to  the  torrent  of  his  words. 

They  crossed  the  river,  and  were  in  Hesht-Bishist. 
That  is  all  there  is  to  say ;  that  is  all  we  know. 

Except  that  ere  the  blessed  night  was  over  Babar 
wrote  in  his  diary: 


KING-ERRANT  331 

"  Sunday.  At  midnight  I  met  Maham  again.  It  was 
an  odd  coincidence  that  she  and  I  left  to  meet  each  other 
on  the  very  same  day." 

After  all  there  is  no  need  for  more.  One  can  imagine 
Babar  translucently,  boyishly,  content.  One  can  imag- 
ine how  fear  at  his  altered  looks  gripped  at  his  more 
than  wife's  heart,  bringing  with  it  a  passionate  deter- 
mination to  stand  between  him  and  needless  worry. 

There  was  no  chance  of  that  for  the  present  anyhow; 
all  was  pleasure  and  delight.  Early  in  the  morning 
little  Gulbadan  arrived  in  charge  of  the  Wazir  and  his 
wife,  who  had  been  sent  out  to  meet  her.  They  came 
across  her  close  to  the  Little-Garden,  and,  the  child  be- 
ing hungry,  they  spread  a  carpet  and  gave  her  a  hasty 
breakfast. 

"  There  are  many  dishes,"  remarked  the  little  lady 
superbly,  and  afterwards  described  the  meal  as  having 
been  drawn  out  to  "  fifty  roast  sheep,  bread,  sherbet 
and  much  fruit."  For  the  dainty  child  of  eight  had  in- 
herited much  of  her  father's  gift  of  words.  She  was 
rather  small  for  her  age  and  extraordinarily  self-pos- 
sessed. With  a  vast  discrimination  in  etiquette  also, 
as  befitted  a  Royal,  or  rather  Imperial  Princess. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  rise  for  her,"  said  the  Wazir 
hastily,  when  his  wife  entered  and  little  Gulbadan  would 
have  saluted  her.     *'  She  is  but  your  old  serving  woman." 

This,  however,  did  not  suit  the  little  lady  who  had 
also  her  father's  gracious  manners.  And  all  the  while 
she  was  bursting  with  impatience  to  see  the  man  who 
her  little  life  long  had  been  held  up  to  her  as  a  model 
of  all  that  was  good,  and  kind,  and  brave.  Five  years 
is  a  long  time  when  one  can  but  count  eight  in  all ;  and 
the  child's  recollection  only  carried  her  back  vaguely  to 
someone  very  tall  and  straight  who  used  to  hold  her 
close  so  that  she  could  feel  something  beating  inside. 


332  KING-ERRANT 

Was  it  her  father's  heart  or  her  own?  That  was  not 
likely  any  more;  for  she  was  quite  a  big  girl  and  her 
hair  was  plaited  in  virginal  fashion. 

Besides  she  had  all  her  little  bowings  and  genuflec- 
tions ready.  She  rehearsed  them  gravely  in  the  litter 
as  she  went  along  to  pay  her  respectful  duty  to  royalty. 

But  after  all  they  did  not  come  into  the  meeting. 
She  had  not  even  time  to  fall  at  the  Emperor's  feet,  for, 
in  an  instant,  he  had  her  in  his  arms. 

"And  then,"  as  she  told  Maham  afterwards  in  the 
seclusion  of  the  women's  apartments,  "  this  little  in- 
significant personage  felt  such  happiness  that  greater 
could  not  be  imagined." 

Maham  laughed.  "  Truly  thou  art  a  quaint  little 
marionette,  Gulbadan!  And  what  dost  think  of  thy 
father?" 

The  little  maiden  pursed  up  her  lips  and  sat  quiet  for 
a  minute.  Then  she  said  firmly :  "  I  think  he  is  too 
beautiful  to  put  into  words." 

Her  father,  however,  did  not  share  her  opinion  in 
regard  to  her  looks.  He  was  never  weary  of  praising 
them,  and  it  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  him  holding  her 
by  the  hand  as  he  took  her  round  to  inspect  all  his  new 
buildings  and  gardens.  And  nothing  would  serve  him 
but  that  they  must  go  out,  both  of  them,  and  see  Dhol- 
pur,  which,  in  a  vague  way,  might  remind  them  of  be- 
loved Kabul.  And  from  Dholpur  they  went  to  Sikri 
where  they  spent  a  happy  month  rowing  about  in  the 
big  tank.  Here  little  Gulbadan  used  to  sit  for  hours 
at  her  father's  feet  while  he  wrote  up  his  memoirs  in 
the  summer  house  of  the  great  garden. 

"  Lo !  little  mouse,"  he  would  say,  looking  round  to 
lay  a  kindly  hand  on  her  smooth  head,  "mayhap  thou 
mayest  write  a  book  thyself  some  day;  thou  hast  more 
brains  than  thy  brothers."    And  he  sighed;  for  of  late 


KING-ERRANT  333 

Humayon  had  not  been  very  satisfactory;  nor,  for  the 
matter  of  that,  were  Kamran  and  Askari,  his  other  two 
grown-up  sons,  exactly  after  his  own  heart. 

Gulbadan  shook  her  head  gravely.  "The  Emperor 
speaks  in  ignorance  of  my  brother  Alwar,"  she  said, 
not  without  hauteur,  "  but  when  my  mother,  Her  High- 
ness, Dildar-Begum  arrives  next  week  the  Emperor  will 
admit  that  his  son  is  a  rarity  of  the  world,  and  a  unique 
of  the  age.'' 

Her  dignity  was  supreme,  and  Babar  laughed. 
"  Nicer  than  Hindal,  Gullu  ? "  he  asked,  knowing  her 
preference  for  the  boy  who  had  been  brought  up  with 
her  under  Maham's  care. 

The  child  flushed  up  visibly,  and  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes.  "  Lo ! ''  she  said,  "  Hindal  is  indeed  my  brother. 
Mayhap  he  is  not  clever ;  but  I  love  him,  I  love  him ! " 

The  Emperor  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
tears. 

"  So  do  I,  sweetheart,  so  does  everybody.  Lo !  I  dare 
swear  it !  we  all  love  each  other,  do  we  not  ?  " 

In  truth  it  seemed  like  it.  Babar's  three  wives  were 
there  after  a  time  and  yet  none  of  them  quarrelled ;  per- 
haps because  no  one  in  the  wide  world  could  have  quar- 
relled with  childless  Mubarika,  the  Blessed-Damozel, 
and  Dildar  was  too  much  occupied  with  little  Alwar  to 
think  of  anything  else.  He  was,  indeed,  a  marvellous 
child,  of  extraordinary  beauty  and  brains.  One  of  those 
children  over  whom  old  folk  shake  their  heads  and 
say :  "  He  is  not  long  for  this  world."  Though  barely 
six  he  was,  as  his  little  sister  had  said,  a  unique  of 
the  age,  and  Babar,  who  had  not  seen  him  since  he  was 
a  baby  in  arms,  was  almost  pathetically  proud  of  him. 

His  devotion,  indeed,  raised  a  suspicion  of  jealousy 
even  in  Maham's  generous  heart  for  her  own  son  Hu- 
mayon —  and  one  evening  as  the  husband  and  wife  were 


334  KING-ERRANT 

sitting  together  in  the  open  balcony  of  the  Palace,  she 
hinted  that  Humayon  might  have  to  play  second  fiddle 
in  his  father's  graces. 

Babar  came  over  to  her  and  laid  his  head  —  it  was 
fast  grizzling  —  on  her  lap  in  the  old  affectionate  Turkhi 
fashion. 

''  Little  mother !  "  he  said,  and  there  v^as  a  break  in 
his  voice,  "  say  not  stupidities.  Lo !  thou  knov^est,  as  I 
do,  that  life  became  doubly  dear  to  me,  w^hen  thou  didst 
lay  my  first-born  son  in  my  arms.  Thou  knowest  that 
I  have  done  all  these  things  —  these  many  things  for 
him  —  my  heir." 

There  was  a  faint  stir  at  the  door,  and  Babar  turned 
to  look.     Then  with  a  bound  he  was  on  his  feet. 

"  Humayon!  "  he  cried  joyously;  "  Humayon  himself! 
Look !  little  mother !  thy  son !  thy  son !  " 

And  Humayon  it  was,  unsent  for,  unexpected,  but 
welcome  as  roses  in  May.  The  Emperor  had  not  the 
heart  to  chide  him  for  leaving  his  governorship,  since 
his  presence  made  the  loving  hearts  of  those  two  open 
like  rosebuds,  their  eyes  shine  like  torches. 

Never  was  such  merry-making  as  they  had  that  night. 
It  was  Babar's  rule  to  keep  open  table  every  day,  but 
on  this  occasion  he  gave  a  spread  feast,  and  heaped 
every  kind  of  distinction  upon  his  handsome  son.  And 
in  truth  he  deserved  it,  for  his  manners  and  his  con- 
versation had  an  inexpressible  charm,  he  realised  abso- 
lutely the  ideal  of  perfect  manhood. 

So  at  least  his  parents  agreed,  as,  after  the  state  din- 
ner was  over,  they  sat,  a  family  party,  in  the  Gold- 
Scattering-Garden.  There  was  a  little  tank  there,  cut 
out  of  solid  red  rock,  which  in  his  unregenerate  days 
Babar  had  intended  to  fill  with  red  wine.  It  was  now 
brimming,  in  honour  of  this  happy  meeting  of  so  many, 
with  lemonade,  and  they  sat  and  quaffed  it  by  goblet- 


KING-ERRANT  335 

fuls  contentedly.  And  Alwar  recited  his  set  pieces,  and 
Gulbadan  did  a  stately  Turkhi  measure,  and  nothing 
would  serve  Maham  but  that  my  lord  should  sing  her  his 
latest  love-song.  She  had  not  heard  him  sing  for  years, 
and  though  he  had  sent  her  and  his  sons  plenty  of 
didactic  and  pious  songs  of  his  composition  and  transla- 
tion, he  had  included  no  love-songs.  And  he  had  had 
such  an  excellent  touch  with  them  in  the  old,  old  days. 

Whereat  Dildar  giggled  faintly,  till  Dearest-One, 
who,  tall,  pale,  a  childless  widow  now,  had  also  come  to 
see  her  brother,  said  softly: 

"  Aye !  it  was  given  him  by  the  Good  God  who  sends 
Love  as  His  best  gift  to  the  World.  Yea!  Sing  to  us 
of  Love  —  brotherling.'' 

So  he  took  the  lute  and  sang  sweetly  enough,  though 
his  voice  had  lost  its  youthful  ring. 

"  Ah !  would  I  were  the  morning  wind 
To  braid  her  scented  hair. 
Ah !  would  I  were  the  noonday  sun 
To  kiss  her  cheek  so  fair. 
Ah !  would  I  were  the  lamp  at  eve 
Where  she  her  court  doth  keep. 
Ah !  would  I  were  the  happy  moon 
To  watch  her  in  her  sleep. 
My  heart  is  like  a  famished  wolf 
That  licks  the  frozen  snow 
The  while  it  tracks  its  quarry  far 
Wherever  it  may  go. 
From  morn  till  night  I  follow  her 
But  she  no  word  doth  deign. 
Oh !  ice  chill  maid !  for  pity's  sake 
Give  me  at  least  disdain. 
Wind !  make  each  scented  tress  unbind. 
Sun !  set  her  life-blood  free. 
Lamp !  make  her  weary  for  true  love. 
Moon !  bring  her  dreams  of  me." 


336  KING-ERRANT 

"  Tis  only  a  translation,'  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  but 
I  like  it  —  'tis  so  simple." 

And  then  his  mind  drifted  away  to  that  spring  morn- 
ing among  the  flowers  on  the  high  alps  at  Ilak  when  he 
had  wondered  at  the  look  in  Dearest-One's  eyes.  And 
his  hand  went  out  to  seek  hers  and  found  it.  So  they 
sat  there  hand  in  hand  like  children  for  a  space,  and  a 
great  weariness  of  the  uselessness  of  life  came  to  Babar. 

"  Lo ! ''  he  said  suddenly,  "  I  will  make  over  my  king- 
dom to  thee,  Humayon.  Thou  art  young.  I  grow  old 
and  I  am  tired  of  ruling  and  reigning.  A  garden  and 
those  I  love  —  what  more  can  any  man  desire?"  He 
spoke  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest. 

Maham  turned  pale;  Dildar  and  the  paternal  aunts 
and  khanums  —  by  this  time  there  were  ninety-six  in 
all!  —  cracked  their  thumbs,  and  even  Dearest-One 
shook  her  head  and  said  quickly :  "  May  God  keep  you 
in  His  Peace  upon  the  throne  for  many,  many  years." 

But  the  Blessed-Damozel  who  always  sat  a  little  apart 
only  smiled.  "  My  lord  means  the  Garden  of  the  Eighth 
Heaven,"  she  put  in  quickly,  "  Yea !  there  is  peace  there, 
and  rest  for  everybody." 

"  My  lady  says  sooth,"  acquiesced  Babar  and  their 
grave  eyes  met. 

But  little  Gulbadan  was  agog  because  it  was  time  the 
fireworks  began  or  Nanacha  would  be  sending  her  to 
bed,  so  the  idea  of  abdication  ended  in  Babar's  catching 
her  up  in  his  arms  and  carrying  her  off  to  see  how  the 
wheels  turned  round.  Then  Alwar,  while  Dildar  gave 
little  shrieks  of  horror  (in  which  she  was  joined  in 
louder  echo  by  the  Astonishingly  Beautiful  Princess 
who  invariably  wept  and  laughed  to  order)  actually  set 
fire  himself  to  a  bomb  and  when  it  exploded  clapped  his 
hands  with  glee. 

"  When  I  am  a  big  man  like  my  father,  the  Emperor," 


KING-ERRANT  337 

he  said  boastfully,   "  I  will  fire  ten  guns   at  a  time/' 

"  'Tis  silly  to  say  such  things/'  retorted  Madam  Gul- 
badan  superbly. 

But  the  child's  keen  little  face  was  not  in  the  least 
abashed. 

"  Lo !  sister,  'tis  silly  of  thee  to  say  no  when  thou 
canst  not  tell  where  I  shall  be  as  grown  man.  Likely  in 
some  bigger  place  than  this."  And  he  waved  his  hand 
contemptuously  towards  Babar's  great  palaces. 

Whereat  they  all  laughed;  for  they  were  a  merry, 
happy  party.  So  they  feasted  and  enjoyed  themselves. 
As  little  Gulbadan  wrote  in  after  years :  "  It  was  like 
the  day  of  Resurrection." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Death  stood  among  my  flowers,  his  bright  wings  furled : 

"  This  bud  I  take  with  me  to  that  still  world 

Where  no  wind  blows,  where  sunshine  does  not  fade, 

Yon  open  rose  is  yours,"  he  gently  said; 

But  I  refused.     He  smiled  and  shook  his  head, 

So  empty-handed  back  to  Heaven  sped 

And  lo!  by  sun-scorch  and  the  wild  wind  shorn 

Ere  eve,  my  bud,  my  blossom  both  were  gone. 

HuMAYON  remained  with  his  father  for  a  week  or 
two.  Handsome,  insouciant,  always  agreeable  and  of  a 
curious  dignity  of  carriage  he  seemed  cut  out  to  be  a 
King.  Wherever  he  went,  no  matter  in  what  society  he 
might  be  —  even  his  father's  —  the  eye  rested  on  him 
with  pleasure.  And  yet  Babar's  eyes,  fond  as  they  were, 
failed  to  see  something  he  fain  would  have  seen.  There 
seemed  no  sense  of  responsibility,  such  as  he,  Babar,  had 
had  at  his  years.  Yet  it  was  hardly  fair  to  judge  the 
lad  by  the  standard  of  one  who  had  perforce  been  thrust 
into  power  at  eleven  years  of  age.  And,  after  all,  Hu- 
mayon  was  barely  two  and  twenty;  still  quite  a  lad. 
There  was  time  yet. 

So,  weary  as  he  was,  Babar  said  no  more  about  abdi- 
cating; he  even  tried  to  think  no  more  about  a  plan  he 
had  cherished  of  going  back  for  the  next  hot  weather  to 
Kabul  and  leaving  Humayon  in  charge  of  Hindustan. 

"  My  Kabul,"  as  he  ever  called  it ;  saying  to  his  sons 
in  jesting  earnest — "  Let  none  of  you  covet  it  for  I  will 
not  give  it!  It  is  mine  own,  my  very  own.  The  only 
thing  in  God's  earth  I  care  to  keep,  for  there  He  gave 
me  happiness." 

338 


KING-ERRANT  339 

Still  he  was  happy  enough  as  it  was  in  Hindustan, 
and,  thanks  to  Maham's  good  care,  felt  more  himself. 
But,  Hke  all  women,  she  was  a  trifle  fussy. 

"  Lo !  my  lord,"  she  said,  one  extremely  hot  Friday 
when  a  dust-storm  was  blowing,  and  Babar,  despite  this, 
was  preparing  for  his  weekly  visit  to  his  paternal  aunts ; 
a  duty  he  had  never  once  neglected  when  in  Agra  for 
three  whole  years.  "  How  would  it  be  if  you  did  not 
go  this  one  Friday?  The  Begums  could  not  be  vexed 
seeing  how  good  you  are  to  them." 

Goodness,  she  thought  privately,  was  a  mild  word, 
considering  that  each  and  all  of  the  ninety-six  female  re- 
lations had  palaces  and  gardens  assigned  to  them  and 
that  the  Court  architect  had  standing  orders  to  give 
precedence  to  whatever  work,  even  if  it  were  on  a  great 
scale,  the  ladies  desired  to  have  done,  and  to  carry  it 
through  with  all  might  and  main. 

But  the  bare  suggestion  hurt  the  Emperor's  affection- 
ate heart. 

"  Maham,"  he  said  in  pained  astonishment,  *'  it  is  not 
like  you  to  say  such  thoughtless  things.  Think  a  mo- 
ment. They  are  the  daughters  of  my  fathers,  deprived 
by  God  of  their  parents.  Therefore,  being  female,  they 
are  helpless.  I  am  the  head  of  the  family;  if  I  do  not 
cheer  them,  who  will  ?  " 

Maliam  could  not  forbear  a  smile.  No  one,  in  truth; 
but  Babar,  beloved,  kindly  Babar,  would  think  twice 
about  a  pack  of  old  women;  and  she  would  not  change 
him  for  worlds.  So,  despite  her  anxiety  for  his  health, 
she  said  no  more. 

All  that  winter  they  were  an  extraordinarily  happy 
family  party.  Humayon  had  been  sent  as  Governor  to 
an  up-country  province,  and  not  back  to  Badakhshan 
where  he  and  his  half-brother  Kamran  had  almost  come 
to  blows.    And  family  quarrels  were,  in  the  Emperor's 


340  KING-ERRANT 

Opinion,  positively  indecent,  besides  being  so  unneces- 
sary; since  there  were  always  plenty  of  outsiders  with 
whom  to  have  a  fine  fight.  Then  the  news  from  Ben- 
gal, where  the  success  of  his  arms  was  being  assured, 
was  satisfactory.  Babar  did  not  mind  beating  the 
down-country  Pagans;  it  was  different  in  Rajputana 
where  you  had  to  kill  real  men.  But,  even  there,  peace 
was  coming  fast;  for  few  brave  soldiers  could  with- 
stand Babar's  frankly  outstretched  hand  of  friendship. 
And  he  asked  for  so  little  in  return.  He  took  no  money, 
no  land.  He  only  claimed  suzerainty;  and  it  was  much 
to  have  a  strong  man  as  final  referee. 

Then  Babar's  friend  Tardi-Beg  came  back  to  him,  not 
as  soldier,  but  in  the  darvesh's  peaked  cap  and  white 
blanket  frock.  However  he  came  he  was  welcome,  espe- 
cially to  Mistress  Gulbadan  who  appropriated  him 
wholesale.  They  were  a  quaint  pair,  as  hand  in  hand 
they  inspected  the  gardens,  and  the  stables,  and  all  the 
ins  and  outs  of  the  Royal  household;  for  the  little  lady 
had  great  ideas  of  management. 

And  Babar  would  follow,  as  often  as  not  with  Alwar, 
who  was  but  a  weakling  in  body,  perched  on  his  broad 
shoulder. 

The  "  four  children,"  as  Maham  would  call  them  as 
they  played  at  ball  together  in  the  marble  alleys; 
Tardi-Beg  with  his  cap  off,  his  shaven  head  glittering 
to  match  little  Gulbadam's  tinsel  and  jewellery;  Alwar,  a 
miniature  of  the  Emperor  even  to  the  tiny  heron's  plume 
in  his  bonnet;  Babar,  his  haggard  face  beaming.  The 
men  enjoyed  themselves  quite  as  much  as  the  children, 
and  if  Babar  accused  his  friend  of  chucking  easy  ones 
to  Gulbadan,  Tardi-Beg  asserted  that  Alwar  never  got 
a  hard  one;  whereat  the  little  lad  wept;  but  his  sister 
stamped  her  foot  and  said  she  wouldn't  play  any  more 
unless   they   played    fain    A   remark   that^   of   course^ 


"THE    FOUR  CHILDREN,'  AS  MAHAM  WOULD  CALL  THEM" 


KING-ERRANT  341 

brought  the  immediate  capitulation  of  Tardi-Beg  and 
Babar. 

Yes !  they  were  very  happy,  very  guileless,  very  inno- 
cent, as  Babar  himself  had  written  so  often  over  less 
commendable  amusements. 

And  then  suddenly  came  a  bolt  out  of  the  blue.  Al- 
war,  little  Alwar,  to  whom  every  day  seemed  to  bring 
some  new  charm  of  unbelievable  intellect  beyond  his 
years,  fell  sick.  From  the  very  first  he  lay  quiet,  ex- 
hausted, spent;  but  smiling.  It  was  a  trick  he  learnt 
of  his  father. 

So,  after  two  or  three  days  he  died,  his  hot,  thin, 
little  hand  in  that  father's.  It  was  as  if  the  sun  had 
gone  out  of  the  sky  to  the  whole  household.  Even  the 
Blessed-Damozel  shed  slow  tears  as  she  wreathed  the 
dead  darling  in  drifts  of  scented  gardenias  and  put  a 
scarlet  slipper  blossom  with  its  quaint  "  something  like 
a  heart "  upon  the  breast. 

Babar,  placing  the  light  corpse  in  the  niche  cut  for  it 
in  the  flower-filled  grave,  felt  as  if  it  were  his  own  heart 
he  were  burying ;  but  it  was  Darvesh  Tardi-Beg  who  re- 
cited the  committal  prayer,  and  that  gave  him  comfort. 

Besides  he  was  a  man,  and  the  women  had  to  be  sus- 
tained. The  poor  mother,  Dildar-Begum,  was  literally 
frantic  with  grief.  Doubtless,  she  said,  the  child  had 
been  poisoned,  because  its  father  loved  it  so;  doubtless, 
in  her  mad  despair,  she  accused  Maham  of  doing  the 
deed.  Polygamy  is  a  fair-weather  craft;  it  is  apt  to 
fail  in  a  storm. 

But  the  poor  soul  was  mad.  Everyone  saw  that; 
and  the  women  took  it  more  quietly  than  the  man. 
Even  blur-eyed,  half-silly  Astonishingly  Beautiful  Prin- 
cess nodded  her  head  and  remarked  sagely :  "  They  say 
that  sort  of  thing  always  in  grief-time,  nephew ;  so  why 
fuss  about  it.    She  will  forget  it  after  a  time." 


342  KING-ERRANT 

And  Ak-Begum  came  with  her  bright  squirrel  eyes 
all  soft  with  tears  to  Babar,  and  whispered :  "  We  all 
know  it  is  not  true,  nephew.  Our  lady  is  God's  kind- 
ness itself;  so  why  fret." 

But  it  did  fret  the  man  and  added  a  bitterness  to  his 
grief,  which  even  Maham  could  not  sweeten. 

"  If  my  lord  will  listen  to  this  slave,"  said  the  Blessed- 
Damozel  at  last,  "  it  will  be  better  to  beguile  the  poor 
distraught  one  by  change  of  scene.  Lo !  the  lotus  must 
be  out  in  the  Dholpur  lakes.  Why  not  go  there  for 
awhile?     Good  rain  has   fallen;  it  is  cooler  now." 

So  they  all  went,  sailing  down  the  river  Jumna  in 
tented  boats.  Far  and  near  the  wide  level  plain  was 
tinted  green  with  fresh  spring  grass.  The  parch  of  an 
Indian  summer  was  over.  This  was  the  Indian  spring. 
With  magical,  marvellous  quickness  the  flowering  trees 
burst  into  blossom,  the  Persian  roses  budded  in  a  single 
night,  and  down  amongst  their  grey-green,  velvet  leaves 
you  could  positively  hear  the  calyx  burst  as  the  scented 
petals  struggled  to  the  sun.  The  climbing  gardenias 
hung  like  white  scarves  round  the  dark  cypresses,  the 
hedges  of  Babar's  favourite  slipper  flower  were  ablaze 
with  their  great  flat  scarlet  circles. 

Yes!  it  was  spring!  So  as  they  journeyed,  the  sad 
little  party  became  more  cheerful.  The  women,  espe- 
cially, had  begun  to  talk  of  their  departed  darling  as  one 
of  God's  angels;  even  his  mother  had  sobered  down  to 
copious  tears,  and  pathetic  requests  that  she  might  be 
given  back  her  other  son  Hindal  —  whom  Maham  cer- 
tainly had  taken  from  her  as  a  baby. 

*'  Let  her  have  the  boy,  my  lord,"  said  Maham  piti- 
fully. "  Lo !  it  is  but  fair  she  should  have  one  son ;  and 
I  have  Humayon." 

So  Babar  blessed  her  for  her  kind  heart,  and  sent 
off  a  special  messenger  to  Kabul  for  Hindal,  a  boy  of 


KING-ERRANT  343 

nigh  ten  years  old  who  had  been  left  behind  with  his 
tutor  to  complete  his  education. 

The  Emperor  felt  happier  when  this  was  done;  per- 
haps because  in  his  kind  heart  of  hearts  he  had  never 
been  quite  sure  of  the  righteousness  of  giving  Hindal 
over  to  another  woman.  It  was  the  only  action  of  his 
in  regard  to  his  womenkind  which  he  could  not  have 
conscientiously  upheld  against  all  comers  at  the  bar  of 
his  own  judgment. 

It  was  great  gain,  therefore,  to  find  his  Dearest-dear 
of  a  mind  with  himself.  For  all  that  he  felt  —  as  strong 
men  so  often  do  when  limited  by  feminine  outlook  — 
rather  battered  and  worn. 

In  no  fit  state  therefore  for  the  bad  news  which  came 
to  him  by  special  runner  as  he  sat  by  the  Water-lily 
tank  at  Dholpur. 

Humayon,  wrote  the  Court  Physician,  in  Delhi,  was 
very  ill  of  fever.  It  would  be  best  if  his  mother  were 
to  come  at  once,  as  the  Prince  was  much  prostrated. 

Humayon !  First,  Alwar,  his  youngest ;  then  his  eld- 
est son !  Was  he  to  lose  them  both  ?  Babar  was  in  his 
essence  very  man.  Trouble  came  to  him  overwhelm- 
ingly. He  might  face  it  bravely;  but  he  always  faced 
the  worst.  It  was  Humayon,  bested  in  his  fight  for  life 
that  he  saw ;  whereas  Maham  with  the  eternal  hopeful- 
ness of  woman,  which  springs  from  her  eternal  mother- 
hood, would  not  let  herself  even  think  of  defeat.  Up- 
set as  she  was  by  the  dreadful  news,  she  yet  spoke 
quietly  of  how  she  would  bring  her  invahd  son  back, 
and  how  his  father  had  best  return  to  Agra  and  have 
everything  ready  to  receive  their  darling. 

"  I  would  fain  come,  too,  dear-heart,"  said  Babar 
pitifully. 

But  Maham  would  not  hear  of  it.  Even  so  much 
would  be  to  admit  danger,  and  there  was  none  —  there 


344  KING-ERRANT 

could  be  none.  Nathless,  let  urgent  orders  be  sent 
along  the  route  so  that  there  should  not  be  an  instant's 
delay. 

She  was  quite  calm  and  collected  to  him;  but  she 
broke  down  a  little  to  the  Blessed-Damozel  who  some- 
how or  another  —  why,  folk  never  knew  —  was  ever  the 
recipient  of  confidences. 

"  Thou  wilt  look  after  him,  lady,"  she  said  quite  tear- 
fully, "  and  see  that  he  wearies  himself  not  with  over- 
anxiety  ?" 

"  All  shall  be  as  if  thou  wast  here,  sister,  so  far  as  in 
me  lies,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  and  Maham  was  satisfied. 
What  Mubarika-Begum  said  she  would  do,  would  be 
done.  Maham  knew  that;  for  she  knew  (what  Babar 
did  not)  that  Mubarika's  life  had  been  one  long  self- 
denial. 

Years  and  years  younger  than  her  husband,  she  had 
left  a  young  lover  behind  her  in  her  father's  palace  when 
she  had  come  as  a  bride  to  make  peace  between  her  clan 
and  the  King  of  Kabul.  She  had  chosen  her  part,  she 
had  respected  and  admired,  in  a  way  she  had  loved  Ba- 
bar; but  passionate  romance  had  never  clouded  her 
eyes. 

"Yea!  I  will  guard  him  as  thou  wouldst,"  she  said 
again,  "  and  mayhap  in  thy  absence,  and  with  this  com- 
mon grief  and  anxiety  to  soften  memory,  Dildar  also 
will  learn  how  good,  how  kind  thou  art,  thou  Star-of- 
the-Emperor's  life." 

But  even  Mubarika,  so  calm,  so  gracious,  so  tactful, 
could  not  prevent  the  mental  strain  from  telling  on  Ba- 
bar's  bodily  health.  Prolonged  anxiety,  great  grief  had 
always  prostrated  him  for  a  time,  even  as  a  young  man ; 
and  now  illness  and  hard  work  had  aged  him  before  his 
years. 

"  Would  to  God  he  could  but  drink  a  bit  —  he  need  not 


KING-ERRANT  345 

get  drunk,"  wailed  Tardi-Beg  who,  being  tainted  with 
Sufi  doctrines,  would  orate  for  hours  concerning  cups 
divine,  and  ruby  wines.  But  Babar  had  never  broken  a 
promise  in  his  life,  and  was  not  going  to  begin  now. 

Besides,  Maham  had  been  right.  Humayon  was 
brought  to  Agra  alive.  That  was  much.  In  the  first 
fulness  of  his  joy  at  seeing  his  son  once  more,  Babar 
almost  forgot  anxiety. 

"  He  will  soon  be  well,  dear-heart,"  he  said  cheer- 
fully ;  **  he  does  not  look  so  very  bad.  When  the  fever 
leaves  him — " 

But  it  was  Maham's  turn  to  be  despondent.  "  It  does 
not  leave  him,"  she  said. 

That  was  true;  as  yet  the  crisis  had  not  come,  and  it 
was  long  in  coming.  Day  after  day  he  grew  weaker; 
day  after  day  the  brain,  weary  of  fighting  at  long-odds 
for  life,  grew  more  and  more  drowsy. 

"  My  sisters !  I  want  to  see  my  sisters !  "  would  come 
the  low  muttering  voice,  reft  of  almost  all  its  youth,  its 
tone.  And  those  three,  Gulchihra,  Gulrang,  and  Gul- 
badan,  Rose-face,  Rose-blush,  Rose-body,  Babar's  three 
rose-named  daughters,  would  creep  in  with  tears  and 
kiss  him.  A  pathetic  little  picture.  The  girlish  faces 
all  blurred  with  tears,  the  tinkling  of  bracelets,  jewelled 
earrings,  head  ornaments,  what  not,  the  rustling  of 
scent-sodden  silks  and  satins,  and  that  poor  head  on  the 
pillow  turning  from  side  to  side,  rhythmically  restless. 

Even  Babar  himself,  had  to  see  after  a  while  that  the 
Shadow-of-Death  lay  on  his  son. 

"Maham!"  he  said  pitifully,— " the  boy,  the  boy—" 

Poor  mother!  For  nigh  on  four-and-twenty  years 
she  had  been  this  man's  stay  and  stand-by.  He  had 
come  to  her  consoling  arms  as  a  child  comes  to  its 
mother.  She  had  given  him  in  passionate  devotion  more 
than  he  perhaps   realised,   for  they  had  been   faithful 


346  KING-ERRANT 

friends  always,  and  the  friendship  had  overlaid  the  love ; 
but  she  failed  him  now,  for  she  was  at  the  end  of  her 
tether.     So  she  stood  dry-eyed,  almost  cold. 

"  Why  should  my  lord  grieve,"  she  said,  "  because  of 
my  son?  There  is  no  necessity.  He  is  King.  He  has 
other  sons  —  I  have  but  this  one!  —  therefore  /  grieve." 

For  a  second  Babar  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone,  then 
he  answered  almost  sternly :  **  Maham !  Thou  knowest 
that  I  love  Humayon  as  I  love  no  other  son  of  mine,  be- 
cause he  is  son  of  the  woman  I  love  best.  Thou  know- 
est that  I  have  sought  and  laboured  for  kingship  for 
him  and  for  him  only.  Thou  knowest — "  softness  had 
crept  back  to  his  voice  — "  Nay !  what  need  to  tell  thee, 
since  thou  knowest  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  wide 
world  I  would  not  do  for  Humayon?" 

"Thou  canst  do  nothing!  There  is  naught  to  be 
done,"  she  muttered,  still  tearless,  calm;  and  something 
in  her  pitiful  despair  roused  instant  response  in  his  ever- 
ready  vitality,  and  he  threw  back  his  head  with  a  ges- 
ture of  negation. 

"  There  is  naught  I  would  not  dare,  anyhow,"  he  said, 
"  and  what  is  dared  is  often  done.  Take  heart !  my 
moon!  All  is  not  lost.  Defeat  comes  not  till  Death  — 
who  was  It  said  that  long  years  ago  —  Aye!  Defeat 
comes  not  till  Death  —  And  even  then — God  knows  — 
He  knows     ...     J     He  knows     ...     ! " 


CHAPTER  IX 

"Death  makes  no  Conquest  of  this  Conqueror, 
For  now  he  lives  in  Fame." 

"  Then  there  is  no  hope  to  save  Death,"  said  Babar 
sternly.  He  stood,  his  face  blanched,  amongst  a  group 
of  Court-physicians,  professional  prayer-makers,  astrolo- 
gers, sorcerers;  frail  reeds  at  which  anxiety  caught  dis- 
tractedly in  its  despair.  And  they  were  all  silent  save 
a  priest  who  mumbled  of  God's  goodness.  Prayer  re- 
mained, said  the  unctuous  voice. 

But  that  strong  human  heart  was  almost  past  peti- 
tions; it  craved  something  more  tangible. 

"  Is  there  naught  to  be  given  —  naught  that  I  could 
do  to  make  God  listen  from  His  High  Heaven? 
Naught  that  would  mayhap  soften  His  hard  heart?" 
he  asked  sharply:  he  was  thinking  of  a  ransom:  many 
a  soldier  had  had  to  offer  one;  he,  himself,  had  given  a 
dear  one  —  once.     .     .     . 

Some  of  those  who  heard,  looked  at  each  other.  This 
death  to  them  meant  little ;  but  here  was  an  opportunity 
for  personal  gain  that  could  do  no  harm  to  anyone.  So 
they  whispered  among  themselves,  and  greed  grew  to 
some  of  the  faces  that  encircled  the  man,  to  whose  face 
it  had  never  come,  once,  in  all  his  life.  For  Babar  had 
been  giver,  not  taker.  He  had  lavished  all  things  on 
his  world;  he  had  been  spendthrift  even  in  forgiveness. 

"  Is  there  naught,  gentlemen  ?  "  he  asked  drearily. 

Then  the  chief-preacher  spoke.  *'  It  hath  been  writ- 
ten, and  is,  indeed,  approved,  that  in  such  times  of 
stress  some  Supreme  Sacrifice  to  the  Most  High  may 
be  effectual — " 

347 


348  KING-ERRANT 

"  But  it  must  be  Supreme/'  put  in  a  coarse-faced 
reader  of  the  stars,  his  mind  busy  with  money,  "  a  small 
gift  will  not  suffice — " 

"  Aye,"  added  another  voice.  "  Look,  you !  It  must 
be  the  most  precious  possession  of  a  man;  that  which 
he  holds  dearest.     In  this  case  I  would  suggest — " 

But  Babar,  who  was  standing,  his  back  to  the  light, 
held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"  Then  I  give  my  life,*'  he  said  quietly,  but  his  voice 
rang  strong  and  firm;  for  he  had  come  straight  from 
his  interview  with  Maham  and  her  words  had  roused 
every  atom  of  his  marvellous  vitality. 

"  Yea !  I  give  my  life  —  for  sure  there  is  naught 
that  a  man  can  hold  more  precious." 

Absolute  surprise  kept  his  hearers  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment. The  very  suggestion  in  one  so  instinct  with  life, 
made  it  incredible;  then  dismay  came  to  some  faces,  dis- 
appointment to  others. 

"  Your  Majesty! "  began  his  faithful  servant,  the  Wa- 
zir  swiftly  —  "  Our  Emperor's  life  is  too  precious  — " 

"  Naught  is  too  precious,  friend,  to  save  Humayon ! " 
came  the  equally  swift  reply. 

"  Yea !  the  Wazir  is  right,"  palpitated  one  who  saw 
money  slipping  through  his  fingers.  '*  Some  lesser 
thing,  yet  still  supreme,  might  be  found.  What  of  the 
Great  Diamond — " 

"  No  stone  can  outweigh  my  son's  life.  No !  I  offer 
myself  to  God  —  it  is  all  I  have."  The  strong  voice 
rang  firmer  than  ever. 

"  But  the  offering  must  be  dear  to  both  parties,"  put 
in  a  pompous  voice.  "  And  since,  by  the  generosity  of 
the  Emperor,  the  diamond  in  question  —  whose  value 
represents  they  say  one  day's  revenue  of  the  habitable 
world  —  was  bestowed  upon  the  Prince  Humayon,  it 
fits  in  double  manner  the  circumstances — " 


KING-ERRANT  349 

Babar  turned  in  quick  reproof  and  scorn  to  the 
speaker.  "  Knowest  thou  so  little  of  love,  friend?  Lo! 
I  am  dearer  to  my  son  than  many  diamonds.  Could  he 
speak  now  — ''  Babar's  voice  almost  broke  — "  he  would 
say,  *  I  am  not  worth  the  price  of  thy  life,  my  father, 
for  It  is  all  the  world  to  me/  But  he  cannot  speak! 
He  is  in  the  grip  of  Death,  so  I  have  my  say !  " 

And  he  flung  out  his  right  arm  as  he  had  been  used 
to  fling  it  out  when  leading  on  his  soldiers  to  some  des- 
perate charge  — "  Come !  gentlemen,"  he  said,  command 
in  every  word,  *'  let  us  lose  no  more  time.  It  is  precious. 
I  will  give  my  all  —  may  God  be  merciful !  " 

The  sick  room  was  hushed.  Humayon  lay  motionless, 
unconscious,  on  a  low  bed  set  in  the  middle  of  the  bare, 
spacious  corridor.  A  physician  sat  to  one  side  hold- 
ing his  patient's  wrist,  so  appraising,  minute  by  minute, 
the  fluttering  battle  between  Life  and  Death.  On  the 
other  side  knelt  the  poor  mother;  all  unveiled,  for  they 
had  sent  for  her,  thinking  the  supreme  moment  was  at 
hand,  and  she  had  no  thought  for  anything  save  her 
dying  son.  Her  right  hand  was  stretched  out  in  help- 
less appeal  over  the  loved  form  which  seemed  to  take 
up  so  little  room  amongst  the  quilts.  But  her  left  hand 
was  held  fast,  consolingly,  under  the  folds  of  a  white 
veil  which  shrouded  another  female  figure  close  behind 
her;  for  Mubarika-Begum,  the  Blessed-Damozel,  was 
ever  to  the  fore  in  sickness  or  in  trouble. 

But  Babar  did  not  notice  either  of  them.  He  stepped 
swiftly  to  the  head  of  the  bed  and  stood  looking  down 
on  the  face  of  his  dying  son.  Almost  it  seemed  as  if 
he  were  too  late;  as  if  Life  had  already  unfolded  her 
wings  and  fled.  Then,  with  eyes  literally  blazing  with 
inward  fire  he  stretched  out  his  hands,  trembling  with 
nervous  strain,  and  began  his  prayer  of  intercession. 


350  KING-ERRANT 

"O  God  Most  High!  If  a  life  may  be  exchanged 
for  a  life,  and  they  tell  me  it  is  so,  then  I,  who  am  Ba- 
bar,  give  mine  for  his,  who  is  Humayon!  Let  my 
strength  bear  his  weakness." 

"Husband!  No!  No!  Not  that —'' moaned  Ma- 
ham,  awakened  to  a  sense  of  what  was  passing.  But 
the  figure  behind  her  bent  forward  and  whispered  in  her 
ear  — 

"  Let  be,  sister !  Canst  not  see  that  God's  mist  clouds 
his  brain  from  this  world.  Lo!  Maham,  both  thy  dear 
ones  stand  before  the  Throne.     Let  God  decide ! '' 

And  with  a  low  sob,  Maham  fell  on  her  outstretched 
arms;  she  said  no  more;  she  felt  nothing  save  that  cool, 
tightening  clasp  of  sisterhood  upon  her  hand. 

The  hot  sunshine  streamed  in  upon  the  floor,  the  dis- 
tant sounds  of  life  outside  were  dulled  to  a  low  murmur 
as  of  bees,  and  on  it  came  softly-hurried  steps,  as  Ba- 
bar,  with  clasped  hands,  circumambulated  the  bed 
solemnly.  That  he  knew  was  the  ritual  of  sacrifice. 
Round  and  round  patiently,  his  voice  rising  above  the 
low  sobbing  of  a  faithful  friend  or  two     .     .     . 

"  On  me,  kind  God !  be  all  his  suffering.     May  all  my , 
strength  be  his.     I  gave  him  life  once,  Most-Clement!; 
Let  me  give  it  to  him  again !     Let  my  strength  be  his 
weakness;  his  weakness  my  strength." 

Over  and  over  again ;  over  and  over !  The  fire  dying 
out  of  the  man's  eyes  with  the  nervous  strain,  until  his 
very  steps  hesitated  — ''  On  me  be  his  suffering  1  On  ; 
me !  on  me !  "  Then  suddenly,  through  the  room,  thrill- 
ing every  soul  in  it,  a  woman's  sobbing  ghost  of  a 
shriek !  — 

"  He  moved !     His  hand  moved  —  I  felt  it." 

Babar  swayed  towards  the  voice.  "  I  have  prevailed," 
he  muttered.  "  I  have  borne  it  away  — "  threw  up  his 
arms  blindly,  staggered  and  fell  in  a  dead  faint  on  to 


KING-ERRANT  351 

sobbing  Tardi-Beg's  breast.  The  rest  crowded  round, 
awestruck,  curious. 

"  He  is  dead  —  God  hath  accepted  the  sacrifice,"  they 
said. 

The  face  of  Babar's  best  friend  worked ;  of  that,  who 
could  say,  but  for  the  present  it  was  not  true. 

"Not  he!"  he  cried  roughly.  "Give  him  air!  Tis 
but  the  strain  on  him,  and  what  that  has  been  all  these 
years,  fools  do  not  know.  Here,  slaves!  Carry  him 
to  his  chamber!  Nay!  Madam  Mother!  there  is  no 
cause  for  anxiety!  H'st!  no  noise,  you  there,  lest  you 
disturb  the  Prince  who  in  good  sooth  seems  coming  to 
himself!" 

And  it  was  true.  The  nameless  change  which  comes 
to  a  fever  face  when  the  crisis  is  passing  showed  clear 
upon  Humayon's. 

"  Her  Royal  Highness  had  best  stay  with  the  invalid," 
went  on  Tardi-Beg,  "  I  can  attend  the  Emperor  in  this 
passing  indisposition." 

But  a  veiled  white  figure  rose  quietly.  "  I  go  with 
His  Imperial  Majesty,"  said  Mubarika-Begum.  "There 
is  no  fear,  sister ;  as  the  gentleman  says  it  is  but  a  faint- 
ing fit.     The  Emperor  hath  been  over-anxious." 

So  when  Babar  came  to  himself,  which  he  did 
rapidly,  he  found  the  Blessed-Damozel  bending  over 
him. 

"My  son?"  he  asked  faintly. 

"  The  prince  is  better,"  she  replied.  "  The  fever  hath 
gone  —  he  will  recover." 

Babar  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall. 

Possibly  the  strain  had  been  too  much  for  him,  com- 
ing as  it  did  after  long  years  of  steady,  hard  work. 
Perhaps  he  had  worn  himself  out  with  sheer,  restless 
energy.     Doubtless   those  ten  years  of   drink,  possibly 


352  KING-ERRANT 

even  the  four  of  total  abstinence,  had  something  to  say 
to  this  premature  break-down;  for  in  years  he  was  but 
forty-eight.  Yet,  deny  it  as  they  would,  it  was  soon  evi- 
dent to  all,  that  he  had  lived  through  the  tale  of  heart 
beats  allotted  to  him  by  Fate. 

Humayon,  with  the  speed  of  youth,  recovered  and 
came  to  his  father's  bedside ;  but  Babar  never  rose  again. 
Perhaps  he  would  not  have  done  so  if  he  could,  for  he 
had  a  made  a  promise.  He  had  given  his  life  to  God 
in  exchange  for  his  son's,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it. 

But  he  was  quite  cheerful.  Only  to  two  people  did 
he  speak  openly  of  coming  death.  One  was  Tardi-Beg 
who  stayed  with  him  night  and  day.  To  him  he  spoke 
lightly,  almost  jestingly,  of  his  long  desire  to  follow  his 
example  and  become  a  darvesh. 

"  For  years  —  aye !  three  years  —  I  have  desired  to 
make  over  the  throne  to  Humayon  and  retire  to  the 
Gold-Scattering-Garden!  What  gay  times  we  have  had 
there,  friend,  with  the  flowers,  and  the  birds,  and  the 
children  —  and  our  own  wits!  Now  shall  I  retire 
to  Paradise,  and  God  send  it  be  as  innocent,  as  guile- 
less." 

And  to  Mubarika  he  talked  of  his  beloved  Kabul  and 
his  mother's  grave.  "  Lo !  thou  shalt  lay  me  there,  lady, 
for  the  others  have  children,  and  thou  dost  love  thy 
Kabul  also!" 

Then  he  lay  and  looked  at  her  with  kindly  question- 

'  ing  eyes,  until  he  said,  "  It  hath  come  to  me  at  times, 

that  I  did  thee  a  wrong  in  taking  thee,  a  young  girl, 

from  thy  tribe.     Say,  is  it  so  ?     I  would  have  the  truth." 

Then  she  spoke  softly.  "  Yea !  it  is  so,  Zahir-ud-din 
Mahomed  Babar  Emperor  of  India.  Yet  was  the 
wrong  righted  long  ago.  By  sacrifice  comes  life.  And 
my  people  have  lived  in  peace." 

"As  we  have,"  he  said  half-appealingly. 


KING-ERRANT  353 

She  laid  the  hand  she  held  on  her  forehead.  "  As  we 
have,  my  lord/' 

But  there  was  one  other  wrong  about  which  he  was 
not  so  satisfied.  Before  death  came  he  wanted  to  re- 
store Hindal  to  his  mother.  And  Hindal  did  not  come. 
He  had  started  from  Kabul  but  had  been  delayed  by 
marriages  in  his  tutor's  family. 

"  I  must  see  him/'  complained  his  father.  "  Write 
and  bid  him  come  at  once.     I  need  him  sorely." 

It  was  the  one  bitter  drop  in  the  cup  which  he  drank 
contentedly,  smilingly.  He  held  an  audience  every  day, 
laughing  and  joking  with  his  old  friends  over  past 
times,  and  when  evening  came  he  would  sit  with  some 
woman's  hand  in  his  and  talk  of  little  things. 

Sometimes  it  was  his  most  reverend  of  paternal  aunts, 
sometimes  it  was  even  poor  Astonishingly  Beautiful 
Princess.  And  little  Ak-Begum  brought  him  posies  of 
violets,  or,  best  of  all,  Dearest-One  would  sit,  her  hand 
in  his,  and  both  would  be  unable  to  say  anything  be- 
cause their  thoughts  reached  so  very,  very  far  back. 

And  there  was  always  a  joke  when  Maham  gave  him 
his  medicine  in  the  Crystal-Bowl-of-)Life.  It  had 
found  its  proper  use  at  last,  he  said:  for  this  it  was 
neither  too  big  nor  too  small. 

So  the  days  slipped  by. 

''Why  does  not  Hindal  come?  Where  is  he?"  he 
said  fretfully,  one  evening;  and  they  told  him  that  the 
boy  had  reached  Delhi  and  would  be  with  him  in  a  day 
or  two. 

"  Who  brought  the  news  ?  "  he  asked,  and  when  they 
said  It  was  the  tutor's  son  who  had  come  on  in  hot  haste 
to  re-assure  the  Emperor,  he  bid  them  bring  the  mes- 
senger up,  and  a  tall,  half -grown  lad  appeared. 

"  Thy  name,"  asked  Babar  faintly. 
"  Mir-Bardi,"  replied  the  youth. 


354  KING-ERRANT 

The  dying  man  laughed,  his  old  boyish  laugh. 
*'  Master  Full-of-fun/'  he  translated,  "  a  good  name  for 
the  companion  of  my  son.  Say!  how  tall  hath  Hindal 
grown  ?  " 

The  lad  hesitated.  "  Lo !  I  wear  a  coat  the  Prince  be- 
stowed on  his  servant.  The  Most-Clement  can  judge 
by  that." 

''  I  cannot  see,"  murmured  the  sick  man  impatiently. 
"  Come  hither,  boy,  that  I  may  feel  how  tall  my  son 
hath  grown." 

So  with  fluttering  fingers  the  hand  that  had  once  been 
so  strong  felt  the  brocaded  coat. 

*'  It  is  well,"  he  said  at  last,  ''  but  I  would  that  I  had 
seen  him.  I  wanted  to  give  him  back  to  his  mother  my- 
self." 

All  Christmas  Day  he  lay  but  half-conscious. 

*'  Baisanghar,"  he  said  faintly,  when  Dearest-One  leant 
over  to  kiss  him.  And  when  Maham  begged  him  with 
tears  to  drink  his  medicine,  he  did  so  with  a  smile,  then 
thrust  the  cup  into  her  bosom  and  whispered  — 

"  Lie  there,  friend,  and  bring  her  comfort." 

Towards  evening  he  roused  and  sent  for  his  nobles, 
and  for  Humayon. 

"  To  you  I  leave  my  son,"  he  said ;  "  fail  not  in  loyalty, 
to  him.  And  to  you,  my  son,  I  commit  my  kingdom,' 
and  my  people,  and  my  kinsfolk.  Fail  not  in  loyalty 
to  them." 

After  that  he  lay  silent,  with  wide-open,  smiling  eyes. 
That  was  his  farewell  to  splendid  life. 

Night  was  passing  to  dawn  when  the  end  came. 

Black  fell  the  day  for  children  and  kinsfolk  and  all. 
They  bewailed  and  they  lamented.  Voices  were  uplifted 
in  weeping.  There  was  utter  dejection.  Each  passed 
that  ill-fated  day  in  a  hidden  corner. 


KING-ERRANT  355 

On  a  hill-side  above  the  town  of  Kabul  there  lies  a 
garden  planted  long  years  ago  by  a  man  who  loved  his 
world. 

Thither  a  new  world  comes  to  make  holiday. 

The  man  himself  has  gone.  As  the  white  marble 
slab  that  looks  up  into  the  cloudless  sky  says  shortly : 

"  Heaven  is  the  Eternal  Home  of  the  Emperor  Babar." 

But  his  spirit  remains  in  the  endless  Spring  of  leaf 
and  flower,  in  the  happy  vitality  of  the  Children  who 
still  lay  flowers  to  cover  the  words  of  hope. 


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